


Behind The Scenes

by Bohemian_seahorse



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad Decisions, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Modern Era, Reality TV, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemian_seahorse/pseuds/Bohemian_seahorse
Summary: Selling out isn't necessarily a bad thing, right?Mark Cohen, failed filmmaker, another one of Avenue B's starving artists, is offered a contract.He lets someone turn his life into a TV show and they'll pay him and his friends to star in it. What could go wrong?Roger Davis, failed songwriter, just another ex-junkie, is dubious. He knows what happens when a camera crew take over your life.It means no privacy. It means that while everything may seem normal on-set, everything is falling apart behind the scenes.
Relationships: Joanne Jefferson/Maureen Johnson, Mark Cohen/Roger Davis, Roger Davis & Mimi Marquez, Thomas B. Collins/Angel Dumott Schunard
Kudos: 2





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey and welcome to my new rent fanfiction! since i finished my other one, i decided to start a new one! this is a completely separate book by the way. i have no idea how often updates will be and i don't own rent or any of the characters. but i hope you enjoy!
> 
> \- angel

Mark's P.O.V

"Okay everyone. Let's run over the basics. The show is called RENT. You guys are the characters. For practical purposes, you are all single, at least on-set you are. And today we're filming the first episode."

We've run through the basics more times than I can remember. The idea is that this TV company wanted to make a series documenting a year in the lives of the starving artists of Alphabet City. Apparently, the down-to-earth is very popular at the minute.

They printed out fliers around time, clearly aimed at people desperate for money. And who screams desperate more than us?

The show is meant to be a dramatised version of our real lives. We've been told to just act like you normally would, this is meant to be showing the harsh reality of the Bohemian way. Don't worry about being someone else, just be yourselves and tell us your story.

That's why the camera crew has flooded into the loft, a rabble of shouting and banging and loud props and microphones. The amount of people shoving through the door and dropping off more equipment astounds me.

They've tried to make the loft look even worse than normal - torn at the sofa and taken some food out the cupboards. They even took Roger's guitar away for now, apparently it needs some backstory. He argued that it already had a backstory to him, but the director told us it doesn't have one to the audience.

The director has made it very clear to us that the audience is all that matters. Every move we make on set, we have to think about its impact on the audience.

I can't be the only one who finds the idea of an audience watching us very unsettling. Our lives are being analysed by this crew to make sure that they're interesting enough for the people who watch us from afar, who see us but we never see them.

A fourth camera is dragged into the loft, huge and clunky and nothing like my camera. This one is so large that it needs a stand to support its weight, as well as a team of three people to transport it.

They're filming in here, because the audience needs to get to know the place we live in the first episode. The place we live, with a few adjustments to make it more heart wrenching. When I signed their contract, I wasn't expecting the whole show to be a pity party. I thought it'd be showing how we really get by, making people appreciate our art a little bit more.

But no, RENT turns out to be a show about a group of friends and their ex-friend turned landlord who demands them pay more than they can. It's a show where we pretend to hate our lives, while getting money for it, and the entire nation feels sorry for us.

When I sold our souls, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

"We want all shots to be authentic glimpses into your life." The director had told us, "That's why we'll be filming in locations that mean a lot to you."

That's why they're destroying our home.

Of course, when they told us to just be ourselves, they meant it in the same way as filming in our true home. They meant they were going to pick at us, take away little parts of who we are, and change us to make us more "likable characters."

They got me a new camera. I really shouldn't complain, but the old one had a value to me that this expensive one doesn't. I tried to explain it, but the director just told me we could get all my footage transferred onto the new one and not to worry.

It's just a detail that annoys me. A show about starving artists, but one of them can mysteriously afford a top of the range camera.

They tried changing other things too. They got Roger to wear black eyeliner, which he protested greatly at. But he isn't fooling anyone, I remember his emo teenage rockstar days.

The director said that he had to look the part, to which Roger reminded the director that he gave up on being a famous musician a long time ago, and now just focuses on writing for fun. But apparently, he has to have a dream, has to have a motivation, it makes the audience understand his actions better, and makes them connect more with him.

People love to see a dreamer, he told us, people love to see someone struggling to achieve, but continuing to try anyway, because they can see themselves in that person.

They tried changing more things too. They tried to get Joanne to wear a dress. She just turned around and said, "I'm a lesbian. You aren't gonna de-gay me." And when they tried to get Maureen to wear clothes that actually covered her body, she just laughed and threw the clothes out the window.

The rest of the little alterations were okay, we can put up with those. But there was one that really pushed it.

They told Angel to get out of drag. They said that people would be able to understand her better if she presented as a gay man. Because of course, that's the most inclusive they can be! She told them that she didn't care if small-minded people didn't understand, and that she wasn't going to be something they wanted her to be. This was a show where she could be herself, they weren't taking that away.

She didn't get upset. She always stays calm like that. But I could see something brewing in her eyes. I could see her itching to hit the stupid smirk of that cameraman's face. I could see that she was fighting not to let it get to her.

That conversation made me regret my choice.

I'm the one who convinced everyone else to go through with this. I brought back the flier and said maybe we could consider. I reminded them that we needed money, and said that it might even be a good opportunity to give the public a window into our lives. Maybe it would make them be that little bit nicer to us, the poor.

It took a long time to make them listen. Maureen was up for it straight away, ever the attention-loving diva. Mimi decided it'd be fun. It was the rest of them who were reluctant.

Collins sat down with me one night and asked if I was sure about this. Did we really want to get rid of all our freedom? He told me that once your life is televised, there is no such thing as privacy. The audience are a pack of wolves and in their opinion, the more intrusive the scenes, the better.

He warned me that they would want to know everything about us, want to see everything we do. We'll never get a break from being followed around by cameras. We can have no secrets, he said, in a TV show, your secrets always get out.

That made me hesitate. Do I want them knowing my secrets? Do I want to become someone that people I don't even know for opinions of? Because what if my secret does get out? What if the director finds out that I've been in love with Roger for the last year?

But then Collins had turned to me and he smiled and said that he would do it, if I thought it was a good idea. Getting paid couldn't do us any harm.

No, I thought, but having our secrets sniffed out definitely could.

"Okay, are we ready for the first take?" The director asks through his megaphone.

The director's a good enough guy. His name's Alex and he's got a lot of credits to his name, has directed a lot of popular TV series'. But most of his things are the classic romantic dramas - I've looked into him, believe me - and this show starring us seems an unprecedented move in his career.

Then again, he's twenty five. Maybe he's still figuring out what his "thing" is.

The people with the cameras are all poised and ready. The rest of the crew hurry everyone except me and Roger out of shot. It's suddenly quiet, everyone waiting for the signal to start filming. Everyone ready to see if this show is going to flop on the first episode, or if it has what it takes to be the next big thing.

Alex counts down from three on his fingers, waves at me, and I walk into the shot. The idea is that I've just come back from the park, where I've been filming for my documentary all day. Roger is lying on the sofa, writing in a notebook. He's been at home all day; my friend and roommate who's just coming back from drug withdrawal.

It's weird seeing him lie there without a guitar. This scene may be based on our lives, but there's never been a moment like this where his guitar wasn't by his side.

I turn to the crew, the lights of the cameras dazzling me. I stare for a minute, stunned by the flashing, before Alex nods impatiently at me.

"January 1st 2021, 10 AM, Eastern Standard Time." I say, "Winter is hard for the artists of Avenue B."

I'm meant to be a narrator of sorts in the series. My character is the filmmaker whose films no one wants to produce. I left from a wealthy, Jewish town to make my living in New York - which is true of my real life - but found myself living in an empty loft with an ex-junkie and no money.

So, they've decided that I should set the scenes like this.

"Close on me, Mark, who's just got back from filming in the park. My newest work is yet another documentary that no one wants to watch." I hold up the new camera that the team gave me.

"Pan left to see my roommate, Roger, failing to write yet another song. He hasn't left the house since his girlfriend died, leaving him with a HIV positive diagnosis." I feel almost bad talking about April on TV. That's his private life. But I guess it's as Collins says, there's no such thing as a private life when you're a TV star.

Roger grunts, totally ignoring me and aggressively crossing out something he's written. I don't know if he's acting or not. He really didn't want to be part of the series - seriously scolded me for suggesting it. But in the end, the promise of money won.

His character is the brooding songwriter. He's dressed as normal; leather jacket, jeans, hoop earrings. And his messy, shoulder-length hair adds to the wild look he's been told to go for. He's meant to be closed off and not very talkative - the tough guy.

Alex said that his character is the one that the young girls watching will fall in love with. Everyone loves the strong, silent type. And there's something charming about the handsome rockstar with AIDS and a whole lot of baggage.

Or maybe Alex didn't say that bit, and that's just me.

"Life on Avenue B isn't pretty. Our cupboards are empty, we can't pay rent, and the landlord Benny shut off our heat."

"Merry fucking Christmas." Roger mutters, not looking up from his writings.

I nod in his direction, "Amen."

Alex is smiling behind the camera, which I suppose means we're doing a good job. I've heard all these stories of people who go to film a movie and their director is a control freak who yells at them because the acting is not good enough, not what they had in mind.

"Benny is our ex-roommate. Last year there were five of us; me, Roger, Benny, Collins and Maureen." I say, "Maureen is-"

"Your ex." Roger laughs, smirking, "Who left you for a lesbian."

I glare at him. Why did Alex have to keep in that detail? I don't resent Maureen for breaking up with me anymore. We're back to being friends again. But now the audience has something to mock me for, a weakness.

Maybe I'm just turning into Alex, worrying too much about what the audience will think. This show's telling our life story, Maureen finding Joanne is a part of that.

"Right." I say, "And Benny is just another dreamer who went over to the dark side. Married Alison Grey, a rich woman. Now swimming in money. He plans to turn this place into a Cyber Studio. Money killed his heart."

Ironic really. Money is what took a friend from us, and yet here we are, turning our lives into a public display for money. Money is what drives us to greatness, and what breaks us down to nothing.

"The last roommate is Thomas Collins." I say, "He left last year to teach his anarchic theories at NYU. He's coming back this week, hopefully with money to help us pay the rent."

Roger scoffs, "Don't count on it."

The lights flicker overhead, letting out a crackling noise before going out. The loft, the set, is covered in darkness. All I can see are the glows of the cameras that record my every move, that seem to illuminate the metal chains around Roger's neck.

"Love you too Benny." I say bitterly.

Alex claps his hands, "And cut!"

The lights on the cameras go off and the loft is filled with noise as the crew start to discuss the shot. For my sake, I hope they're saying good things. I really don't want to re-take it. Emotion from a script only comes first time round.

"Perfect!" Alex says, shaking my hand firmly, "You're naturals."

You'd hope so. We're acting as ourselves, talking about our lives. We'll be able to play the characters better than anyone else could, because the characters are us. Who's better suited? It'd just be humiliating if we weren't able to do it convincingly.

"Okay!" Alex says, "Everyone outside for the next scene."

...

This time I'm part of the crowd standing behind the cameras. This scene introduces Maureen and Joanne, the classic dysfunctional couple. Their relationship is supposed to be tense, constantly at risk of breaking. Kind of like reality, but with a few extra fights.

It's cold outside, yet Maureen's still only wearing leather trousers and a cropped top. They've curled her hair and painted her lips red and she looks good, but I'm totally over her.

Joanne's in a white shirt and black slacks. Very businesslike.

All of our characters are exaggerated. Maureen is naturally flirtatious, but in this she's more of a cheater. Joanne is cautious and planned, but in this she's controlling and paranoid.

We're filming them in front of the Life Cafe, again with the locations we know. They're supposed to be mid-argument about something petty.

Alex has them positioned ready, the cameras all trained on the outside of the run-down building. It's so weird. I can see the real them, and also them from every angle imaginable on all the cameras.

Joanne talked to me yesterday and told me that she was scared of this. She was worried about people judging her when they watched it. She panicked and started ranting to me, saying that people might not like her having a girlfriend and she might end up getting hated by people and not be able to go anywhere in case someone saw her.

I told her that it's okay, people won't mind, and she ended up almost excited for it.

"Okay, take one starting now."

Maureen grabs onto Joanne's arm, pulling on her roughly and pouting.

"Pookie, I don't understand why we had to leave." She whines, "We were having fun."

Joanne frees her arm and jerks away. She glares at Maureen and God, if I was on the receiving end of that look, I would be fearing for my life. I don't know if this she's just a good actor, or if this is pent-up anger for all the times Maureen messed with her getting out. Maybe it's bringing back memories.

"You were having fun." Joanne says, "Leaving me to pay the bill while you flirted with the woman at the desk."

Maureen throws her arms in the air, sighing, "I told you to let me pay! And we were just talking!"

Joanne fixes her another chilling look, "Sure. Just talking."

"Am I not allowed to have friends?" Maureen says.

A car honks its horn loudly as it drives past us. I half expect Alex to end the shot there, say that it's ruined now. But he smiles and the cameras keep rolling. I keep forgetting that he likes the background noises, thinks they add to the atmosphere.

"Not friends that you want to kiss." Joanne says.

She starts to walk away but Maureen grabs her waist and steers her back towards her. She starts to sway, holding Joanne in what would be a beautiful embrace, if it weren't for the fact she was letting her arms hang at her side and frowning.

"You know you're the only one for me baby." Maureen says softly, "I don't mean to make you feel like you're second place."

Joanne lets her scowl melt away, and smiles, her arms hugging back. I remember how that felt. Maureen could make you feel worthless one minute, then have you back on her side the next.

"Next time I'll let you pay." Joanne whispers, laughs, and walks away, leaving Maureen standing on the street.

"Cut!" Alex says next to me, making me jump.

He walks over to Maureen and Joanne.

"Love it." He says, "It was so believable."

They smile and thank him. But when Joanne walks away, do I imagine the look on her face?

Was it believable because it was real? While Joanne acts like she's forgiven Maureen on-set, I can't help but wonder what their relationship is like behind the scenes.

...

"Okay, sir, if you could-"

"Miss." Angel corrects, smiling at Alex.

"Right." He says, "If you could go and get ready. You're on next."

She smiles again and walks away, muttering under her breath about ignorant people.

A minute later, she's back and dressed. Wearing a long blonde wig with flowers pinned in, a white turtleneck shirt and a pink skirt with tights and high-heeled boots. She grins at me as she walks past, totally ignoring anything Alex is saying. I can tell she's going to get on his nerves quickly, but he deserves it.

I don't know why, but I'm so proud of Angel. I know that she's the most confident person here, but I also know that she had a serious wobble when the script first came out and she was written as a gay man. She'd asked me why they didn't understand that she wasn't a man, why they couldn't just accept it and get on with things.

I had no answers. Sometimes people are just narrow-minded. They've been living a certain way and find it hard to adjust to something new. Sometimes they're scared of things they've never seen before.

"Okay everyone!" Alex says, "This is the last scene for the first episode. We'll be back tomorrow to start on episode two, but when this is over, you can go and rest."

Yeah, go and rest in the loft that's currently home to a huge crew. Like we can go anywhere without being followed anymore. They want to know what we're doing at all times, in case anything interesting happens that they think is worth incorporating into the show.

We're down some alleyway now, recreating the scene when Collins comes back from NYU. When he meets Angel and falls in love at first sight. Except Angel has chosen to change this encounter slightly. When this really happened, she was presenting as male and could be assumed as such. For the TV show, she's dressed up ready so that the audience see her as a woman right from the start.

I think that this is what she'd choose, if given the chance to travel back in time. Go back and have it so that Collins could meet her as she was meant to be.

"Action."

Collins walks down the street. A group of men jump out and ask if he has any money. He says no, so they start punching him, knocking him to the floor, kicking his face, and taking his coat.

Fake blood drips from his nose and I have to remind myself that this is acting. He isn't hurt. But it's still so tempting to run out there and scare away the assholes that mugged him.

The cameras stop filming him and move over to the other side of the road.

Angel's sat on the hood of someone's car, hitting a plastic bucket with drumsticks. A couple of people walk past and one throws her some money.

"Thanks!"

She goes back to playing, smiling and nodding her head along as she hits the bucket. She looks so happy, so entirely in her element, that it frustrates me when the quiet groaning in the background stops her playing.

Angel glances around, searching for the cause of the noise. She jumps off the car and tucks the bucket under her arm, slipping the drumsticks into her belt. Looks around again, crosses the road. The cameras follow her the whole time, zooming in on her face as she peers down the alleyway Collins lies in.

He coughs and groans again, trying to stand but collapsing and sinking back to the floor.

"Woah, you okay honey?" Angel asks, pulling tissues out her pocket and rushing over to his side.

He accepts the tissues and wipes at the blood on his face. Then looks up and meets her eyes.

"Did they take any money?" She asks him gently, reaching out an arm to pull him up.

"Had none to get." He mutters, "But they took my coat."

She frowns, looks into his eyes, and breaks into a smile. It's amazing seeing this day recreated. I always wished I'd been able to see their love at first sight, always thought how magical it must've been. And now I can. Now I'm watching them fall in love all over again.

"I'm Angel." She says.

"Indeed." He chuckles, "Collins. Tom Collins."

Angel smiles again and Collins smiles too. God, they don't even have to act. They're so smitten for each other that it's blinding to look at. They're so perfect together that it almost hurts.

"Come on." She says, "I'll take you back to my place to get cleaned up."

"But my friends are expecting me." He says.

She just grins, "It'll be fine. Come on."

Angel loops her arm in his and laughs as they walk away together.

"Cut."

"Perfect." It doesn't slip past me that Alex is only looking at Collins, as if not looking at Angel means she isn't there and he doesn't have to see her gorgeous freedom.

She comes over to me and grins devilishly.

"Someone better watch his back tonight." She whispers.

...

"You know Mark, I wasn't sure about this at first. But we really might be onto something here." Collins says, leaning back in his chair.

We've escaped onto the roof where we can get a bit of privacy from the cameras. A least for a little bit. The sun's beginning to set and we've got some complimentary bottles of champagne to celebrate our new jobs.

Roger flashes me a look. God, I get that he isn't impressed with me for agreeing to this, but he can at least pretend. Everyone else is doing it just fine, why can't he just get on with it too?

Mimi scoffs, "I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't even in the episode!"

Angel laughs, "Because they're saving best till last! You'll get a spectacular entrance in the next episode!"

Mimi stands up, "Better had! I want the fanbase drooling over me!"

Angel crawls on all fours to Mimi's feet, staring up at the other woman with big eyes. She lets out a little bark and paws at Mimi's legs.

"Why? Do I not do a good enough job?" Angel says, letting out another dog whining noise.

"Girls." Collins laughs, grabbing Angel's arm and dragging her back over to sit with him.

"Yeah, this was a good idea Mark." Maureen says, holding her glass in my direction.

Roger gives me a look that I can't quite understand.

"Yeah, well done." He says.

"Lighten up boy! We're getting paid for this, remember!" Collins says.

"Yeah." Roger says, "Paid for selling out."

He looks at me again and I feel inexplicably guilty. I haven't done anything wrong. I'm getting us money. I don't get what he has to be so bitter about. It's not like I've killed someone.

"Hell yeah!" Collins says, "To selling out and getting rich!"

He holds his glass up in the air and we all copy, clinking them together under the stars.

"To selling out!" We shout.

Well, all of us except Roger, who's still staring at me with eyes that tell me I should know why he's so angry.

But I don't.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roger is angsty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh t/w transphobia

Roger's P.O.V

I cannot believe Mark. I can't believe the way he stared so blankly back at me, the way he doesn't seem to know any of what's going on in my head. I can't believe he acts surprised that I want nothing to do with this mess he's got us into.

I'm starting to think he doesn't know me anymore.

Not only have I now got complete strangers watching me around the world, I also have them broadcasting my most personal moments. When Mark told the cameras about April earlier, I wanted to get up and walk out. He has no right to tell anyone about her, about the scars she left me with.

Mark doesn't see that selling out is a terrible thing. I've read the articles. I've seen the stories. I know what happens on TV sets. They never end well. They always end with someone getting hurt, with something awful happening behind the scenes, while they have to act like everything's fine for the cameras.

Maybe I'm the only one with any sense here, but I can't do this.

Is he not disgusted by the thoughts of people who we don't know, suddenly knowing everything about us? If we're famous, we'll be stalked, we'll have random teenagers falling in love with us. Our lives will be uprooted.

Mark thinks it's a wonderful opportunity. Ooh, we can show the world how it feels to be poor. No, that's not what Alex wants to do. Has Mark not seen the way he treats Angel? Alex doesn't give a shit about us. He just wants the credits and the fame.

I recognise the look in Alex's eyes as he films us. I know it from the mirror. When I was younger, I chased after being world-known. I wanted to be famous. I know what it looks like to be so caught up in your own dreams, that you don't care about anything else.

I learnt that fame isn't all glitz and glam. Fame is being pressured by fans to be perfect, to stay the same, to never age, to be thinner, to be prettier, get this surgery, get that surgery. It's having your lives invaded by camera crews until you don't know who you are anymore. It's drugs and alcohol and sex and disease and I want no part of it.

Mark can keep Alex's fake promises. He can sell every last part of himself to the media if he wants to. But this is the first time that I will not follow him. It's time for me to walk away. I know where I belong.

"Have fun selling out." I say.

They're fools, the lot of them. I never thought I'd say that. Mark, such an intelligent person, yet so blind. God, I love the man, but I hate the way his brain works.

I thought, surely I couldn't have been the only one dubious of this offer. Surely someone else will see sense. But no, even Collins, NYU professor Collins, agreed to play out this stupid game.

I walk away from them, from them toasting to destroying their lives. Why don't they understand? Why can't they see what I see? Why do they trust the cunning fox of a director? He's a fraud and he's got them all wrapped around his little finger.

How long before it gets into their heads? Alex is not a good guy. He is using us all and I'm the only one who can see. He is going to tear them apart and when they come crying to me, I'll be the one to say I told you so.

Loosen up, they said, it'll be fun. I'm sorry if I don't see the fun part of being monitored 24/7. Care to tell me? Come on, let me in on the secret. Let's all have a good laugh about my ignorance.

Ignorance. Yeah right. They're the ignorant ones. I'm the only one who knows how the world works. They'll all regret this choice in a few weeks, when people have started watching the show. 

My disgust goes much beyond this anyway. It's not even just my friends' ridiculous amount of trust for the people they've let into our lives. It's the fact that these people think they can just waltz in here and change things, take things, harass Angel.

I saw how they won Mark over so easily with that new camera. He's cheap. I won't be bought like that. Anyway, I don't think they're intending to buy me like they did him. I think they're trying to take everything away from me until I have no choice but to join in.

They should not be touching that guitar. No one but me should touch it. They have no clue how much it means to me, where it came from, and who gave me it. They don't know its story, so how dare they think they have the right to take it?

I don't even know where they've put it. I don't know if it's still in one piece or if it still works. For all I know, they've smashed it up and are going to keep on breaking my things until I give in and play along for their TV show.

Keep on smashing things. He'll join in if he values anything in this house.

I walk down the stairs, off the roof. There was a time when I would've been able to go back in and sit on the sofa. But not now, thanks to Mark's genius idea. Now there are at least fifty people crowded in the loft and the sofa is obscured by bodies.

It smells of sweat and beer and the sounds of their talking fills my ears. They haven't noticed me, thank God, they're too busy drinking and chatting.

This is not my home. This is not a place I know. What has Mark done?

Where does he expect us to sleep tonight? I'm sure all of these people are going to require a bed here. What are we meant to eat, when all these people will take the last of our food? Maybe if he came in, he'd see what he's done. Or maybe he'd still be blind.

Something unfamiliar is happening inside me. It's like my skin is crawling, made of tiny little clawed feet that run around and make me itch. I feel so uncomfortable, my body like it's on fire.

"I wonder what his real name is."

One conversation stands out louder than the others.

"Who knows. Those trans kids all think they're so special."

"Yeah, all choosing names and dressing like clowns."

Laughter.

"I'll get him. He thinks he can ruin my show with those clothes. He'll pay for that."

"Yeah, you show him! Show the freak who's boss!"

My eyes meet with the man's. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen in fear when he sees me in the doorway.

Alex. Talking about Angel. I knew it. I fucking knew that he wasn't good. Mark needs to hear this.

"Excuse me a minute." Alex says to his friends, sliding off the sofa, his eyes on me the whole time.

He stands next to me. I can feel the anger growing. This man thinks he can come in here and talk shit about people who are better than he'll ever be. He thinks he's allowed to judge people based off their gender. How shallow can he be?

"Are you lost?" He says sweetly. His lips may be acting cool, but I can see fear in his eyes. Good, he deserves it. He deserves worse for the things he just said.

I just glare at him, letting my face become the focused mask of fury that I've perfected over the years. Mark often tells me that I'm the scariest person he knows. Granted, he doesn't really know many people, but I still take it as an achievement.

Alex seems to shrink a bit, "Why aren't you with the others upstairs?" He asks weakly.

I keep staring, "Who do you think you are to talk about Angel like that?"

He puts on a look of mock horror.

"I wasn't talking about him!" He says.

"Her."

"It." He says, grinning evilly at me.

"You didn't."

Something snaps and before I can think, my fist is connecting with his chin and there's crunching noises and blood on my hand. My body goes on autopilot, a series of jabs and kicks and punches. Alex is curled up on the floor, his face in his hands, as I continue to pound him.

There's silence around. I'm aware of people pulling out phones. Don't put this online. I'm trying to avoid fame, not go viral for being some madman.

I pull myself away, breathing heavily, staring down at my hand in shock. Did I just hit him? Is that really Alex's blood? Or is it some of the fake blood they used on Collins earlier?

The words around me are muffled and distant. All I can do is stare. The blood drips onto the floor. I did that. Alex's body lies next to me, groaning in exaggerated pain. People are shouting, telling me to get away, asking if I've gone mad, saying they'll call the police.

None of it matters. None of it makes sense. Do what you want to me, but hear me out first.

The only thing I know is that Alex was planning to hurt Angel, so I hurt him.

...

Alex is wheeled back in the next day. They've said he'll be in the wheelchair for a couple of weeks. I can't meet his eyes when he enters the room.

"As you're all aware, there's been a bit of an incident." Alex says brightly, "But I won't let it stop us from getting on with filming."

Everyone's glancing over at me. I get it. Take a look at the latest exhibit; the unhinged man who beat his director to pulp for no apparent reason. At least, they don't think that there's a reason. The story being told is that I was jealous seeing them all in my house, grabbed Alex and started to punch him.

I'll admit that I'd hoped this might at least delay the production for a bit. It wasn't my main motivation: that was defending Angel from this monster. But I thought, maybe I'd get something else out of my little slip too. Maybe we'd get a few days without filming.

I'm pretty sure Alex will either fire me on the spot, which really wouldn't bother me, or is going to target me like he is with Angel. I'll end up on his hit list too. All because I couldn't control myself.

I haven't told anyone why I hurt Alex. I'm sure that even if I did, they say that wasn't worth him ending up in a wheelchair for. But I just really don't want to tell Angel. She's seen the way he's avoided and misgendered her, but I don't know if she'd be able to handle the thought that Alex is threatening her.

I'm ready to pack up and leave the set. I never wanted to be here in the first place. It's a shame to lose out on the money, but it'll be a relief to get away from this hell. The only thing is, if I'm not here are they going to take it out on Angel? Am I the only thing standing between them and her?

Alex's smile is what's frightening me. The way he keeps looking over at me with that battered face of his. I know without looking that the bruises on his face match those on my knuckles.

"Okay, so the first scene of the day will be shot inside. Mimi makes her big entrance." Alex winks at her.

"Yes! Finally!" She says, pumping the air victoriously.

Alex smiles at her, "You'll come in through this window. Your heat is off and you need someone to light your candle. You enter and find Roger alone."

I look at him in shock. I'm still part of this? I'd been certain that my stunt yesterday would get me thrown off the team for good. I'd hoped. But in Alex's smug grin I see that he knows I want to leave, knows what I'd hoped for, and is making me stay on-set as a form of punishment.

I could leave if I wanted to. That would wipe his smile away. But I leave, who's going to stop him from getting at Angel?

"You ask him if he has a match and start to flirt." Alex says.

"What?" Mimi says, "But none of that ever happened! Plus, I'm not into him!"

"I know." Alex says, "But it will make good TV."

Mimi looks so offended at the thought of having a relationship with me in a TV show. She turns to me for support, but I'm not offering any. I don't want to be part of this, remember?

"What happened to it all being based on our lives?" She demands, "This never happened!"

Alex just smiles again, "But the audience don't need to know that. This is just the kind of romance people like - fresh, edgy, dangerous."

"Dangerous? What do you mean?" Mimi asks.

"I mean you're both HIV positive, you're both ex drug addicts. It's perfect." Alex says this as if it's so obvious, as if just because we're both ill and used to do drugs that means we're meant for each other.

Mimi looks as disgusted as I feel. Come on, I've loved Mark from the day I met him, I'm not going to fake being in love with my friend for money. That's low, even for the guy who crippled the director.

"So, you want us to pretend to be in love?" Mimi says.

Alex grins, "Now you got it."

"But that's gross!" She says.

"Come on." Alex says, "It's acting baby. It's all fake anyway."

You know what else is fake? Him. Alex Rivera. TV director in his mid twenties. Lovely to anyone who doesn't get in his way. Kind on-set. A monster to people who defy him. And anyone who doesn't fit his standards - Angel.

And now I've messed with him and I fit into the category of those who defy him.

Mimi looks at me. She wrinkles her nose and grimaces. I agree. This is weird. I just stick out my tongue back at her.

"You okay with it Rog?" She asks.

I shrug, "I guess."

She grins widely, "Okay then...Pookie."

"You turn into Maureen and I will fucking end you." I say.

She giggles. I can't ignore the way people are looking at me. They see this is a real threat, after what I did to Alex. They think I really have it in me to kill someone.

Everyone starts to exit the room, until it's just me next to Alex in his wheelchair. I go to leave, but he grabs my shoulder.

"You're still welcome to be a part of the show." He says in my ear, "No hard feelings, hey."

Yeah right. As if I want to spend another minute here. Not that I have anywhere else to go, or anyone to make sure Angel stays okay.

"But I'll be keeping an eye on you." He says.

...

"Hey, you okay?"

I have half a mind to hit Mark's hand away. No, I'm not okay. I'm stuck here, ruining my life by being in this show, but forced to stay out of obligation to help Angel. I'm now probably on a CIA watchlist for landing Alex in a chair. And it's all because Mark had to sign that contract.

I don't want to be here, but I can't leave. I want to cry, but I can find no tears.

"Alex is okay." He says quietly, "If that's what you're thinking about. He isn't too hurt."

I couldn't care less how hurt Alex is. Mark didn't hear what he was saying. He probably thinks I just lost it and attacked him, because Mark has had experience with me being randomly violent and lashing out. I'd like to think that Mark believes better of me, knows there must have been a reason. But I don't know what he thinks.

"Why did you do it?" He asks.

Cars drive under us as we stand on the balcony, leaning on the rail. They don't have people living in their home, making them pretend to love their friend, threatening people that they care about. They have normal lives.

"It doesn't matter." I say, turning away from him.

I can see it. I can tell he wants to believe the best of me, as always. But he's struggling. I don't blame him. I sent someone to hospital and now won't explain why. Mark is always so desperate for me to let him in, for me to tell him how I feel, but that just doesn't come naturally for me. All my life I've been a closed book, now I don't know how to open.

"You know." He says quietly, "I wish you'd tell me what's going on in that head of yours sometimes. I feel like I don't know you anymore."

There it is. His vulnerability. His need to know. He's clinging onto the past, to the days when we told each other things. It's been years since I last told him what I'm thinking about. I don't think my mouth remembers how to. Because I learnt long ago, that my emotions will only get people hurt.

There's only one way that I talk about my thoughts: through song.

My notebooks are full of honesty. Pages upon pages of me being true, of me talking about my life before poverty and disease. Mark knows nothing about who I used to be, but my notebook knows everything.

I used to tell myself that one day I'd sing those songs for him, I'd let him see the real me. I'd let him see every little flaw that I've kept hidden. I'd let him see my worries. I'd show him that the reason I don't love Mimi is because I don't love girls at all, that the guitar he let Alex's crew take away has more value to me than he could ever have imagined, that I've been in love with him all along and closed myself off to be protected from heartbreak.

"I'm sorry." I tell him. It's true. I'm sorry that I can't tell him anything, that I've forgotten how to share, that I'm stuck living in the dark and have no idea how to find the light.

For someone so broken, my ability to love astounds me. Love is why I'm here, because I care about Angel enough. I may not show it, but my friends mean everything to me. Love is why I never went back to drugs, because I saw how much it affected Mark. Love is what's kept me in New York this whole time.

I may not show it, but I do know how to care.

My friends may think that I'm just another moody young man who's too cool for emotions, but I really do love them. I just don't know how to show it, since the last person I showed my love to was taken away forever.

I used to be angry all the time. I used to hurt people like I did with Alex. When I was lost on the streets of New York, young and hungry and scared that my life would be like that forever. I hurt people, I let myself be the out of control creature they thought I was.

Even as a child, expelled from school for fighting. No one ever heard my side, cared for the fact that it was the other kids who pushed me until I hit them. Because they knew that if they said the right things, I'd turn into my father - the very person I dreaded becoming - and wouldn't be able to stop.

That's why I left, to be something else. Because when everyone assumes the worst of you, what's the point even trying to prove them wrong?

"I know that you don't really want to be part of this whole thing." Mark says, "But could you try? You might enjoy it, if you let yourself."

Mark knows me better than anyone else, but he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know the half of it. And I want to keep it that way. Because if he knows that I love him, he'll be taken too.

"Come on." He says, "I'll ask them to get your guitar back."

I look at him, "Mine? Not some expensive-ass new one?"

"Yours." He laughs slightly.

It'd better be mine. Mine has history. Mine has meaning. Mine is worth more than any of the money they're paying us to do this. It's worth more than Mark could ever understand.

"So, you'll do it?" He asks.

The shining hope of his blue eyes, the small smile on his lips, the way his hair's swaying gently in the breeze. I want to kiss him so badly right now. And there's something about his face that makes me feel it wouldn't end so terribly if I did.

But no. I move away. I can't love him. He could never feel the same, and even if he did, it would only end badly. I can't hurt anyone else.

"I'll do it."

I can't face him, not tonight, not after everything that's happened.

I may hate everything about this TV show, but I love Mark more.


	3. 3

Mark's P.O.V

I should be guilty, I know that. I should be so guilty that I toss and turn all night and get up tomorrow, exhausted. My stomach should be tangling into knots and my mind should be racing.

But I'm not guilty.

Seeing Roger, seeing him so broken over the thought of this show, should hurt me. I should feel bad for getting him in this situation.

But I'm just tired and annoyed. I'm annoyed that he won't explain his thoughts to me, won't let me in anymore. There must be a reason for him to fly at Alex, I believe that. But how can I side with him if he won't tell me why he did it?

It reminds me of the days when I met him. I was so scared of him. Why wouldn't I be? He was this young man who looked constantly ready to fight. He was so rough around the edges, so different to the people back in Scarsdale. He looked like he'd lived in these bad areas his whole life.

He scared me because he didn't talk, just glared. He walked around in this huge leather jacket, his hair long and bleached blonde. He had ear piercings and wore eyeliner, for God's sake. This man's entire look screamed "I do drugs!!"

He scared me because he had no temper. Any time someone would make a passing comment about him, he'd turn on them with dark eyes and then came the flurry of fists. I always assumed there must've been a reason he snapped so quickly.

I stopped being scared of him. I told him things. Yet, did he ever tell me things back? I know nothing of his childhood, of his life before he met me, of why he used to fight so many people. And this man is my best friend.

He's my best friend and I wish he was more. He may not tell me everything and recently he may have seemed so far away, but he's funny and always willing to do whatever stupid stuff I want and will let anyone rant to him and he's kind and passionate about his music. There are so many good things going for him.

But I wish he'd talk more.

I know Roger's angry at me for letting Alex film us. I can see it and I can feel it radiating off his body. But I don't know why, because he won't explain his feelings to me, as usual.

So, I'm not guilty for hurting him. I'm just frustrated that he won't tell me why he's so hurt.

I sigh, run a hand down my face, and open the door to the bedroom.

The camera crew have taken over the rest of the loft. They've dragged blankets and pillows from their own homes and are now asleep on the floor and on the sofa. They're out of the way and I'm still able to sleep in a bed, so it's fine by me.

There are two bedrooms here. Both of them are equally as uncomfortable. Both with a solid bed and a thin sheet and a floor that hurts your feet. Both of them are nowhere near enough to stay warm. The difference is that Roger's bedroom has a window that can't shut, so is significantly colder.

He refused to let me sleep in the drafty room when we moved in, which I found very sweet at the time. Now I think it may have been something to do with better guitar acoustics.

Whatever, the point is that we usually sleep on opposite sides of this place. Apart from on the cold nights, like, I don't know, January 2nd for example.

That's why I'm not too surprised when I open my bedroom door to find Roger curled up under my six threadbare blankets. When this happens, I normally find my heart soaring at the thought of being able to sleep next to him, maybe even hug him and pretend that I'm asleep.

Tonight however, I'm slightly shocked, because of the talk on the balcony. I confessed to him that I feel he's withdrawing from me, which we both know he is. And then, there was a weird moment where it looked like he wanted to kiss me. Though I guess that's just my mind fantasising again.

I know he's fully clothed under the sheets (I'm not that lucky!) so he must've fallen asleep quickly. Maybe he was upset by what I said. Not too much though, because he's still in my bed. Does that mean something?

I don't care. But there is a small problem. He's lying right in the middle of the bed. I really don't want to wake him up, but I need him to move over.

I shake his shoulder lightly.

"Hey. Roger, wake up." I whisper.

He turns, opens his eyes slightly and smiles. And I'm trying not to show it, but that is the cutest smile I've ever seen.

"Hey, move over."

I nudge him again, trying to roll him. But he just lies there and keeps smiling at me.

"Move over, I want to sleep." I say.

"Make me."

I can't stop my face from warming up as he smirks at me. No one should be able to look so unintentionally attractive, it just isn't fair. What he does to me isn't fair. Why did I have to fall in love with the biggest tease in the world?

"If I must." I say, trying to keep my voice level.

So, I bend down and I put both hands on his shoulders and try to push him to the other side of the bed. And then his hands are grabbing mine, and I'm stuck leaning over him. Our faces are inches apart and he continues to grin, his eyes glinting.

And then he pulls me and I'm on top of him and his arms are wrapped around my body. My face is burning and my heart is beating faster than it ever has before. I'm about to speak, but I hear soft breathing and see that Roger's fallen back to sleep.

Did he even fully wake up at all? Was this all just some half-asleep, meaningless stunt? Of course it was. I sigh, disappointed, and shift over so that we're lying side-by-side. His arms are still clinging onto me and his head rests on my chest. I let myself shut my eyes and stroke his hair.

Roger may not want to open his doors to me, but it won't stop me from loving him.

...

"Okay, you know what you're doing?"

It's so obvious that Roger isn't making eye contact with Alex. I mean, it's totally reasonable. He is the cause of all the bruises and the wheelchair. But there's something else in Roger's eyes, some deep-set resentment that makes me wonder again what caused him to attack.

Was it just like all those times before? Just self-defense, just fighting back.

But Alex couldn't have said anything to start this. As I already decided, he's a good guy who wants to help us out. He has no reason to say anything that would trigger Roger's repressed fighting instinct. Maybe my friend really did just lose it. He's gone years without doing anything like that, so maybe it was just his bottled-up emotions breaking out.

Roger hasn't said anything to me all morning. I'm not sure if it's because he was awake enough to remember the little wrestling match we had last night, or if it's simply that he's not a morning person.

If I'm being honest, I haven't seen that much of my friends since we started filming. Angel's been steering clear of Alex and the set unless she's required in a scene, and Collins is staying with her. I haven't seen Maureen and Joanne since their part the other day, when they performed an unsettlingly convincing argument.

We've not had much time to just hang out recently, what with how busy our lives have suddenly become. But I'm sure that won't be a problem. Friendship is thicker than blood, after all. Time apart can't break the ties that bind us.

Only me, Roger and Mimi are in the loft today. I want to watch every scene being recorded; Alex's organisation fascinates me. The others might not be able to understand what I find so interesting about it, but come on, how often do you get to be on an actual set? This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing!

Mimi's been pacing restlessly all morning. She's really not thrilled at the idea of flirting with Roger, which is kind of funny, because I would do anything to be in her position. She literally told me that she's worried they're going to have to kiss.

Why does she get so lucky? And then not even appreciate it. It's so typical.

She's been sent out to wait on the balcony now. I can see her through the window, looking anxious. She's got a thick fur coat pulled around her shoulders and on her body nothing more than a bra and tights. She sees me and waves quickly, going back to biting her lip.

"Okay, starting now." Alex says, looking at Roger in a way that confuses me.

The cameras start to roll and Roger appears on their screens, lying on the sofa with a notebook resting on his legs. I hate how familiar this is. I hate how it reminds me of all the nights when I'd come in and he'd be there, despondent to the world around him, entirely lost to whatever drugs he'd been doing that day.

I hate how this image really is a snapshot of my life.

I remember when I'd walk in, dreading what I was going to see from him. Whether he'd be alert, or whether he'd be drifting away again. And every day I tried to expect the best, and every day I was crushed when he let me down. And I asked myself, "why bother? He doesn't want to get out of this. Stop believing he'll do it. Every day is going to be like this for the rest of your life."

But then it wasn't. Then one day he had the notebook out again, and he had the guitar. And he looked awake for the first time in so long, and in his eyes I saw the man I thought I'd lost for good. And I thanked myself for not giving up, for believing the best of him, because it paid off and I ended up right.

The first time I heard the guitar for the first time in over a year - out of tune as it was - I found myself crying. It was a sound I'd missed so much, and a sign that the man I missed so much was coming back.

That reminds me, I'm meant to be asking Alex for that guitar back. I still don't understand quite why it's such a big deal to Roger, but I don't know the whole story. Who am I to judge?

On camera, Roger sighs. He picks up the notebook and looks intensely at it. His eyes are heavy and dark and I'm really struggling to tell if these are real emotions left over from yesterday, or not.

"One song, glory. One song, before I go. Glory, one song to leave behind."

He shouldn't be singing without the guitar. It's so wrong. I can see that he feels the same too. His face is a mix of numb and angry, as if both feelings are fighting for dominance. I can't even remember the last time I heard him sing, recently he's been writing songs but never letting me hear them - not like he used to.

I'd almost forgotten what his voice sounded like. But now I remember why I fell in love with his songs. His voice isn't perfect; it's raspy and rough. But it's beautiful and it's honest and the emotion I hear when he sings is like no other. It's when he unintentionally expresses how he's feeling.

"Find one song, one last refrain. Glory, from the pretty boy front man, who wasted opportunity."

His eyes are shiny as he stares at the paper and I can see the tears trying to escape. I want nothing more than to walk out there and hug him because it breaks me to see someone look so upset, especially when I know that this incredibly rare moment of vulnerability Roger's showing is about to be broadcast to the whole world.

I want to hug him because it's been so long since I got a glimpse of the dark world inside his head, and now I'm seeing that I'm seeing the truth, I'm not so sure if the truth is something I want to see or not.

Alex told me about this scene. He said that Roger's character is going to be the most popular for the fans. He told me how he plans for Roger to be loved by our audience because apparently every TV show has the handsome rogue that everyone falls in love with.

Alex said that Roger needs a tragic backstory, as if he doesn't have one of those already. We need to make him the saddest history imaginable, so that everyone will be wanting to help him. I didn't mention that I barely know any of his past, and already want to help him.

I know that Roger doesn't want to be on this show, and he certainly doesn't want the whole world to see him as weak. But I still agreed with Alex, said that this scene would be important. And Roger can't mind that much anyway, because he's still performing it.

"One song, he had the world at his feet. Glory, in the eyes of a young girl. A young girl."

His voice is cracking and oh God, he's crying. I haven't seen him cry for so long. Seeing the sadness etched on every inch of his face makes my heart ache and I'm so close to crying too.

I have this momentary hatred of Alex, for putting Roger up there, getting him to sing something that clearly hurts him. I'm tempted by the thought of dealing him a second set of punches, but I probably wouldn't do much harm.

"Find glory beyond the cheap coloured lights. One song, before the sun sets. Glory, on another empty life."

He's shaking and crying and I don't think I can watch. I shouldn't be seeing this. No one should be seeing this. Alex shouldn't be filming it and no audience should be allowed to watch. This is a side of Roger that even I have never witnessed, and this part of him should not be revealed like this. It'll ruin him.

"Time flies, time dies. Glory. One blaze of glory. One blaze of glory. Glory."

The worst part is the way Alex continues to smile, this hungry grin. It's like this is what he's been searching for, a damaged man to finally open up, just in time for him to show strangers.

Because this song, though I've never heard it before, is so familiar. It's no doubt what Roger's been working on, and it's also very clearly about him, about his life. This is the way he talks about himself, about what's inside him. This is his story and it should not be public.

"Find glory in a song that rings true, truth like a blazing fire. An eternal flame."

Alex is smiling as Roger holds his own heart in his hands, offering it to the rest of us in the room. He's holding out his feelings, risking showing them and hoping that we'll still respect him, still see him in the same light.

I'm a combination of proud and upset. Proud that he's being open, even if it's by accident. But upset that it had to be for a TV show, for all these people to see. People who won't understand the significance of this moment, will think it's all just an act, won't see how serious this is.

"Find one song, a song about love. Glory, from the soul of a young man. A young man."

He's dropped the notebook and is staring right into the camera, his eyes red, tears dripping down his face. It's like he's challenging the world to judge him, daring them to say anything about this.

"Find the one song, before the virus takes hold. Glory, like a sunset. One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies, and then no need to endure anymore. Time dies."

And the window swings open, revealing Mimi crouched on the ledge. She's grinning, but in her eyes I can see sympathy that the audience will miss. She heard the song, she feels sorry for Roger too.

He quickly wipes away tears, picks up the notebook and tries to wipe away all previous emotion. That moment of openness, gone in a blink. Back into stoic statue mode again, back to the blank default he lives by.

Mimi steps into the loft, pulls an unlit candle out her coat pocket.

"You got a match?" She asks.

"You're the girl from downstairs?" He says quietly, a small tremor in his voice the only sign of remaining pain. His ability to revert back to being closed off so quickly will make people think it really was just acting. Only me and Mimi know what really happened today.

She nods and laughs.

"They turned off my heat. It's so cold." She waves the candle in his face and he laughs softly, pushing her away.

"Okay, okay. Let me find a match." He says, smiling at her.

She sits down on the edge of the table, her eyes following Roger across the room, the same little grin on her face. She's doing a good job so far at pretending to be into him. I can see what she's doing; using her friendship to make a connection seem real and trying to go from there.

He walks back over with a flaming match in hand. She takes it gratefully and lights the candle, then turns her attention back to him.

"Have I seen you before?" He asks her.

"Perhaps." Mimi laughs, "You ever been to the Cat Scratch Club?"

He clicks his fingers and smiles.

"That's it! You're the one that they handcuff."

She grimaces, "Yep. Pays well though."

And then she's leaning forward and staring into his eyes and I can feel the discomfort surrounding both of them. She smirks as she gets closer, her eyebrows quirking in a smug look. But I can tell she's praying for this to be over as soon as possible.

While she's focused on him, Roger uses one hand to extinguish the flame of the candle that burns on the table behind her.

He pushes her back gently, a rejection but not a harsh one.

"Your candle's out." He says casually, fighting off a smile.

Mimi turns around in confusion, picks it up, frowns, meets his eyes and then laughs.

"One more match." He says, striding over to the cupboard and sitting back down next to her to relight the candle.

"Thanks." She says.

Roger stands up.

"It was nice meeting you." He says, "But you should probably leave before my roommate gets back."

Mimi puts on her best disappointed face, getting up. She walks out the door, aided by Roger's gentle herding. He stands in the doorway, as if to make sure she doesn't come back.

When she's gone, he sighs and sits down. His eyes are sad again and he's holding the notebook. Please don't let him sing again, I can't see that.

There's a knock on the door that makes him jump. Mimi's back, scanning the room with a frown. Roger does his best to recover quickly from the shock.

"Hey, your candle's out again." He says quietly.

Mimi doesn't even look down. She's too busy glancing around seriously.

"I dropped something." She says grimly.

"What was it?"

She looks guilty, "It was my..."

She pulls at her hair, sighs and says, "My stash."

Roger's eyes widen. I know it's scripted, but I still don't like it. I know that drugs make him anxious now. He worries that he might end up going back to them, losing himself again. I always remind him that it won't happen, he's too strong to go back to that life. I don't know if Alex is aware of this, or if this is just an unlucky accident.

But I don't think it is.

"Cocaine!" Mimi bursts out, "Not heroin! Not...not anymore."

This must be hard for her too. She's barely out of an addiction and now she's having to talk about it. Mimi may act cool all the time, but I know that some things do get to her. And the agitated look in her eyes says that this just might be one of those things.

"You're a junkie?" He asks.

She looks down, "Yes. Trying to get out of it but...yes."

He touches her arm lightly, "Me too. Well, ex."

She looks up at him with these shining eyes and for a minute I believe their love act. I can see it through the fan's eyes, thinking wow they really could be good together. This is a decision I might be able to back Alex on.

There is chemistry and I can understand why this choice was made. Yes, that chemistry comes from years of friendship. But it still means they click, they work together.

"Help me look." She says.

Roger frowns. All acting. Pretending. He doesn't want to help Mimi find her drugs, because he doesn't want her to be doing them. But in the end he agrees, because his love for her wins. Okay, yes, I really can see why Alex wanted them together.

She gets down on hands and knees, crawling on the floor, searching. Roger looks reluctant, but he makes sure his eyes stay on a certain part of her body.

"Like what you see?" She laughs.

He blushes. It's out of embarrassment of being made to look at his friend's ass. I bet that a week ago he could never have imagined getting paid to pretend to find Mimi sexy. Yet, here we are. And that blush is one that the audience will interpret very differently.

Roger's eyes find something on the floor. He bends down and picks it up.

"Hey, look what I-"

But then her eyes are on his and he shoves the little bag in his pocket. He may be helping her, but he isn't going to let her have these drugs. I can tell from the crease of Alex's forehead that this was not scripted, that he was meant to give her the drugs.

"What is it?" She asks.

"Old wrapper. Never mind." He shrugs.

Mimi stands up, stares at Roger, takes a step forward. Alex is smiling again. This is the moment. They're going to kiss before she disappears into the night. This should not make me feel so jealous.

She puts a hand on his chest, licks her lips. She's good at this. Roger, on the other hand, swallows hard and tries to look calm.

For reasons I don't understand, I try to think of the last time he kissed a girl. Maybe that's why he looks so scared? But strangely, I can't recall that ever happening. I don't remember any girl that he's even had a crush on, let alone kissed.

That's odd. I'd never noticed before.

Mimi pouts her lips, smirks, leans in for it...

This is it.

...but their lips never meet.

They make eye contact and Mimi starts to snicker. Small at first, but then she's letting out these snorting laughs and bending over to try and control it. To no avail. She's hysterical and pretty soon, Roger's laughing too.

"I'm sorry!" Mimi says between laughs, "I just...I can't kiss him! He's my friend! I can't take this seriously."

She's laughing so hard that it looks like she's going to pull a muscle. I'm honestly surprised they managed to get so far through the scene before one of them started to laugh over how ridiculous the entire thing is. I don't know how Alex expects them to do this without bursting into tears of laughter.

Alex does not look impressed.

"You think this is funny?" He demands and Mimi stops laughing immediately, her face dropping, "Do you know what this means?"

The cameras have stopped filming and Alex's face is flushing a deep red. I've never seen someone so annoyed. I can practically feel the heat coming off him.

"We have to start the scene again!" He shouts, "And we're going to keep starting the scene again until you two can get over yourselves and follow the damn script!"

I don't miss the seething look he sends Roger there, the one that seems to make my friend shrink in on himself. What has Alex got on Roger? What's going on between them to make my roommate so afraid of him?

"Or is that too hard for you?" He asks.

I've not seen this side of this man yet. Before, he's seemed nothing but nice. Now, he's quite intimidating. I really do not want to get on his bad side. Just like...

Just like Roger has.

Beating someone up is a guarantee to get on their bad side. That must be why Alex seems to hate him so much. It's kind of understandable, but I still feel like I'm missing part of the story. Because I know my friend and I believe that Roger wouldn't hurt someone without what he saw as a valid reason.

"No." Mimi mutters, concentrating on her feet.

"Excellent." Alex growls, "Now let's go from the top, this time with you two acting your ages."

I hope that "from the top" means from when Mimi comes in. I don't think I can sit through seeing Roger sing again without my heart breaking.

It would be a cruel move. But then again, Alex does seem out to get him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what song i was listening to when i wrote this


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oi bad chapter haha

Roger's P.O.V

I don't think things could get any worse. I am officially ready to curl up in a ditch and never get back up. I'm done. End it now, and swiftly please.

Not only did it take us five hours to record today's episode, I also humiliated myself on TV. Alex decided that we would keep the shot of me singing, and only redo the interaction with Mimi (which we kept messing up and redoing - I could see Alex itching to strangle me right there).

The episodes are being aired at the end of the week, as soon as the third one is ready. Apparently, it's better to kill three birds with one stone. If we only put out the first one, people will lose interest. If we do three at a time, there'll be enough for them to watch until the next one's ready.

But Alex is lucky if I stick around for another episode. I am so close to killing him and Mark. Even Mimi. Don't think I didn't miss the way she looked at me when she came in through the window, all full of sympathetic, "I understand how you feel" looks.

The truth is none of them understand. None of them could because I've never told them anything. None of them know why I hurt Alex, none of them know why that guitar is so important to me. None of them know why I spilled my secrets today in that song, and neither do I.

But it was Mark who put me on the spot. He's been working with Alex. They're trying to make my character the freak one, the one people want to help. They're busy conjuring up a sad backstory, when my own already haunts me.

I don't want help and I don't want to do this show anymore. Now, people who I've never met will discuss me, they'll see me in the streets and they'll shoot me the same looks Mimi did earlier. Because I cried on TV.

I cried.

How long has it been since I last did that? Since Mark helped me get off drugs? Since April died? Since I lost _him?_

And now the world will see me as a baby. It's true, isn't it? I'm weak. I'm pathetic. Breaking down over nothing more than words in a notebook, over a tune that tells my story. If my father could see me now.

He was always harder on me once I told him I was...

But I can imagine his voice now. Small, young me cowering under him.

_"Get yourself together boy! You see yourself now, you're turning into a little girl. And I didn't ask for a daughter, did I? I asked for a son, got myself a son, and now you're gonna stay one! That's what happens when you hang around that fag boy all the time, you become one of them! Now, you're going to make some new friends. You're going to become a fighter like me, and you're gonna make me proud. You know what happens if you don't."_

I cried on that day, but I was only just thirteen. Just started secondary school. Just started playing the guitar my grandma had bought (that my father hid the next day). Just started to discover myself.

Just started to spend time with _him._

But I shouldn't be thinking about this, about these things that have happened and I now have no control over. I can't control the way my father acted, or what happened that night when I snuck out to meet up with _him_. These memories are just photos, frozen in time.

I'm so good at not sharing them with anyone else, but I'm so bad at stopping myself from reminiscing.

Alex's script is right, I am a mess.

Crying when I know it's being filmed, keeping everything hidden inside, beating up the director. What's wrong with me?

Not to mention the incident with Mark last night. Not the conversation, I mean the bit in the bedroom. I honestly did fall asleep in there, but when he tried to shove me I woke up. Fully awake. Tired, but awake.

Turns out that tired me likes to flirt.

Luckily, I'm convinced that Mark thinks I was half-asleep. So, at least he won't get any ideas. I love him, but I can't afford for him to know. It's okay to love someone from a distance, but once you confess it, they're gone.

When the three words come out your mouth, you seal the deal. It's like a message to the devil, saying "Look how much I care about this person! Bet you can't ruin that!"

Turns out they can. As soon as you let someone know how you feel, the devil pounces and takes away its prey.

To tell someone you love them, is to hand over a death sentence. No one would believe me if I said it, they'd say I'm just panicking, I'm just making excuses to explain my fear of being open. But it's true. I've seen it in action.

_"I think...I love you."_

Gone the next day.

And being on this set is making me relive these things. Seeing what I did to Alex is making me remember my childhood, and that's one thing I've fought to forget for my whole life. I've never talked about it, because to talk is to make it real. If it lives only in my head, it can all seem like a dream.

My whole life seems like a dream at the minute. Having to love Mimi for the cameras, that's never going to end well is it? I'll probably have to kiss her at some point, and that's something I haven't done for a long time. Never with a girl.

Mark is still so dumb. He admires Alex, I can tell. He really doesn't see that all Alex wants to do here is pick apart our family, until we're all against each other. Until he's killed our love.

Or maybe that's just how I see it.

Even if I'm wrong about that, I know he doesn't have good motivations. I heard what he said about Angel and I don't want to be around anyone who thinks like that.

But I'm staying to help her, and because I don't want to disappoint Mark. Maybe that does make me weak, or maybe it makes me strong. Who can say?

A pair of hands slip over my eyes and a warm voice fills my ears.

"Guess who."

I laugh. "Angel?"

She removes her hands and claps.

"How could you tell?" She says, smiling at me.

"It's a gift."

She laughs, sitting down next to me on the bed. The bed that I pulled Mark into last night.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, not unkindly, "I thought you were staying at Collins'."

Her smile becomes slightly strained.

"I just wanted to see how you're all doing." She says.

Oh.

_Oh._

That means she heard about today's episode, she's here because Mark's called her and said he's worried about me. Or maybe him and Mimi ever formed a tag team over it, both pleading for Angel to come over and see if she can get any answers out of me.

Don't get me wrong, showing up unannounced at your home just to see how you are is definitely a thing Angel would do. But after today, I know for a fact that someone's asked her to check on me.

Since I seem to have built up walls around me, walls that only Angel can get close to breaking down. She just has a talent. She's able to make me feel like I won't be judged for what I say.

But even she doesn't know everything.

"Okay." I tell her, because what more can I say?

Oh, yes, I had a breakdown earlier when I started to be the most honest I have for ages. Yeah, it was for the show. So, pretty soon, the world will know me as a weak child in need of fixing.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks quietly.

"How do you know I'm thinking about something?" I shoot back.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles and I'm glad because I hate seeing her miserable because of my infectious bad mood.

"Honey, your face is all scrunched up. You're either thinking hard about something, or feel sick." She says.

I laugh. I don't see how Alex can hate her so much. Angel is by far the most likable person I've ever met. She's going to be a fan favourite, for sure.

Here I go, thinking like Mark and Alex again.

"What's bothering you?" She says.

I like that Angel doesn't pry. She'll ask what's wrong, but if you're not up for talking, she understands and just keeps you company instead. She's used to me not wanting to tell her things, but she still keeps coming back and trying. If souls are real, she's definitely got a good one.

But today there's so much swirling around inside my head. So much mess. I just have to get some of it out.

Alex, his threats, punching him, in love with Mark, scared, suspicious, Alex's plans, kissing Mimi, pretending to love her, Mark's foolishness, anger at him, not wanting to be on this show, have to stay, protect Angel, humiliation, crying in front of everyone, my childhood, my father, the guitar, _him._

"I don't trust him." I say quietly.

"Alex?" She asks.

I nod.

"Can you explain why you don't trust him?" She asks.

I swear, Angel could be a professional therapist if she wanted to. She has just the right tone of voice to sound concerned but not intrusive. Her people skills are second to none; she can read every facial expression. And her questions are always so perfectly worded so that you feel comfortable to answer, but not pressured to.

The short version: Angel Dumott Schunard is an absolute queen and deserves to be treated as such.

"I don't like this idea." I say, looking down at the bed and not into her kind eyes, "I don't think it's sensible to sell ourselves out like this. I feel like Alex is going to mess up our lives. I don't know...I just think this is going to go badly."

She nods. 

The other reason I don't trust Alex is because he's fake. Because I overheard him plotting to do something to Angel. But I can't tell her that. I don't want to scare her.

"Is there a reason why you should feel this way? Any childhood experiences, for example? Something that would lead you to be suspicious of people?"

Yes. My father, pressuring me, hurting me with his words, making me feel like the whole world was against me. Stopping me from being around friends, making me be just like him - a fighter, a loner. Pushing me until I ran away one night, because being homeless on the New York streets was better than living with him.

Because I'd stolen my guitar back from him that day, and that was the only thing that mattered anymore. There was nothing else tying me to that house, to those people. Because the only person I cared about there was gone, and the guitar was all that was left of him.

"I don't know." I say.

I can tell she's disappointed. She was hoping that this time I'd tell her something new. She thought she was getting somewhere with me. But she isn't surprised because every time we do this, I shut down, I brush her off.

"That's okay." Angel says. She's holding my hand. I'd normally push her away, but today the physical contact is relaxing me. She knows just what I need.

"Do you think your mistrust is why you hit him?" She asks.

I hit him because he wanted to hurt her, because he was saying inexcusable things. But she can't know that.

"Maybe." I say.

She doesn't look sympathetic; not like the way Mark and Mimi did. Angel doesn't work like that. She knows how my mind works better than anyone else, she knows that sympathy does not help me.

"Between you and me." She whispers, "I think the new colour palette of his face does wonders for his complexion."

I laugh and she does too. In moments like this, I'm so close to spilling everything. Being this close to Angel just makes me want to open my mouth and tell her the whole truth, not even caring who she shares it with after. Because I can almost tell myself that she would get it, that she would understand how I feel.

Because she's been through shit too.

But no. I remind myself that I'm just dreaming again. There's no way she'd understand. If I told her about my father and about _him_ , all she'd be able to give would be sympathy. Just like everyone else. And I'd wish I'd never said anything, because I don't want people feeling bad for me, I just want to be understood.

"But that doesn't make it right." She says, "You know that, don't know? You are guilty deep down about what you did. Guilt won't make it okay, but you can learn from it. Try not to do it again."

But it's so hard when he's saying such awful things. So hard to control myself. I know who I sound like right now, but I don't even care. Alex is like all those kids from my childhood, taunting me with words until I retaliated. Because they knew I would, and they knew it would get me in trouble at school.

They just didn't know how much trouble it'd get me at _home._

Every time I hit someone, my father was proud. Wanted me to take classes with him, wanted me to be just like him.

But he was disappointed, would tell me I had to stop becoming my father, tell me he hated to see me hurt people, hated to see me hurt _myself_. Because each time I turned into the person I hated, it tormented me and tore me apart and _he_ knew that.

Even in my head, I don't speak his name. Never. It will only bring back memories.

He said that I wasn't like my father, that I didn't have to be strong. He said that the person he'd fallen in love with was the boy who played the guitar and sang for him under the old tree, not someone who smashed up bullies' faces.

_"Stop trying to be something you're not. It doesn't matter to me how many guys you can knock down, I just want you. The real you. Nothing more than that, I'm not your dad."_

Of course, it went against everything I'd been pretending to be my whole life. But being with him felt good, refreshing. Because I could drop the act. I could talk about my real interests without being called a little girl, a failure, a freak.

When I was with him, it felt like being born for the first time.

Until I said those three words and he was taken.

"You sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?" Angel asks.

I nod, "Yes."

There is one thing I'd like to ask though:

_Why him? Why him and not me? What did he ever do wrong?_

She smiles sadly, untangling her hand from mine.

"I'm sorry." I say. And I really am. It's not fun having to live with all these things inside me. I wish with all my heart that I could tell Angel everything. I'm sorry that I have to hide from her. But there's no other choice.

"It's okay honey." She says, "It takes time."

And I want to cry again because she's just too good. Mark pushes and gets frustrated when I won't tell him things, Mimi just does sympathy. But Angel does it right. She lets me know that when I'm ready, she'll be there. She gets it.

I smile at her and I hope she knows how genuine it is.

"Now, I'm a very busy woman." She says, "Got a few more patients to check up on here before I head back. I hear Mark's got a few things to rant about."

She gets off the bed, grabs her handbag and gives me a little wave before starting to walk out the room.

"Thank you." I call after her.

She turns.

"No. Thank _you_." She says.

And for a moment, it's like she's thanking me for what I did to Alex. It's like she knows what he was saying about her.


	5. 5

Mark's P.O.V

"Who died and made you the therapist?"

Angel laughs, "Who said that someone had to die for me to get the job?"

I shrug. "I guess it's because death means the end for some things, and the beginnings of others."

"Wow, getting all deep on me." She says, "But no. No one died. I'm just acting as your free counsellor!"

"How lucky." I say, "Seeing as we have no money to pay for your services."

"Not yet anyway." She nudges my arm, "But you better pay up as soon as the first wages are handed out."

I hold up my hands in defeat.

"Certainly. Wouldn't want to rob such a fine lady of her well-earnt cash."

She nods and smiles again. Does she ever stop smiling?

"You just been to see Roger?" I ask in a hushed tone.

She deflects my question with another question.

"You mind if we go somewhere more private?" She whispers.

I watch Angel glance around the room at the crew. They've completely taken over the loft; leaving a mess of beer cans and old magazines in their wake. They've claimed everything but the roof and the bedrooms as their territory.

I can hardly see the floor between all the pairs of feet, can barely hear myself think over the constant rabble of their voices.

I don't mind. They need their space to work. It just means we have to get away if we want to discuss anything that they shouldn't overhear.

I nod and follow her up the stairs onto the roof. Presumably, Roger's in my bedroom, since we're not going in there. The bedroom where we...well, what did happen in there? How do I describe it? I got turned on by my sleeping friend? I had to stop myself from confessing to him right there? 

Sometimes I wonder, what would happen if I told him? But when I think about it, about how badly he responds to emotions, I decide that it would probably freak him out. He'd probably panic and take flight. I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, even if it means that's how I permanently feel.

"Did he tell you anything?" I ask her as we sit down on the chairs on the roof.

"You know I'm not supposed to tell you." Angel frowns, "I may not be a licensed therapist, but I still believe in session confidentiality. What happens in the session, stays in the session Mark."

"I know," I say, "But I'm worried about him. Please?"

Angel sighs, "I really shouldn't tell you honey. But I can make an exception just this once."

"Thank you." I say gratefully.

Sometimes I get jealous of how close Roger and Angel are. I used to resent her because he told her things that he would never tell me. I thought that we were both competing for his trust, and that I was falling behind in the race.

But she has no bad intentions. She doesn't try to steal him from me, like I used to think. Now, I'm mostly pleased that he has someone to talk to, even if that person isn't me. And even if he only tells her basic things.

Angel is impossible to dislike. She's funny and she's considerate and she cares so much about everyone. She's the only person I know who would go around giving out free therapy sessions. Collins really hit gold to end up with a girlfriend like her.

I used to tease him incessantly, ask how he managed to get someone so out of his league. And every time, he said he didn't know, that it amazed him frankly.

"He's struggling, Mark." She says, frowning again, "He barely told me anything, but I can tell that there's so much on his mind."

My throat goes dry. This is bad. Even if Roger won't tell me things, he talks to Angel. He always talks to Angel.

"Did he tell you anything?" I croak.

"He said that he doesn't trust Alex, that he's worried this TV show is gonna ruin our lives." She says, "That his mistrust might have had some influence on him when he hit Alex."

That's common knowledge. It doesn't take a detective to see that Roger does not like our director, that he's wary of this whole thing. God, I saw the disgusted outrage on his face when I suggested signing the contract months ago.

"Mark." Angel says sadly, "He needs someone. If he won't tell me anymore, he needs someone else to trust. The secrets are killing him."

I know that. But I don't know what she thinks I can do. Whenever I try to talk, he just pushes me away. If something's on his mind, Angel's the only one he'll even let near. I don't have her skills, I can't be supportive like her, I can't make someone feel comfortable enough to talk.

I make interviews. I'm like a journalist. Filmmaker. Interrogator. Always need answers. I ask questions, and that doesn't work. I just press. She's gentle with it in a way I don't know how to be.

"I can't." I say, "He doesn't want to talk to me."

"But he does." She says, "He just doesn't know how. He's scared of judgement, of people seeing him differently once he's told them these things."

I feel my heart aching. I would never see him as anything else, no matter what dreadful things he revealed to me. I could never have anything but respect for him, and love. Nothing could stop me loving him.

Angel grabs my hand and I'm frightened by the desperation in her eyes.

"I can't always be here for him, but you can. I'm sick, getting sicker." She begs, "Please Mark, he needs you. He needs someone he can be honest with. He needs you to show him how much you care."

"How much I-"

"Show him that you love him." She confirms.

I would be surprised. But this is Angel. She's practically the force of love given a human body. Of course she can recognise my feelings.

"How?" I ask.

"I don't know." She whispers, "But do it soon, before it's too late to win him back. Before the things he keeps inside destroy him."

She lets go of my hand and smiles sadly.

"I'll see you tomorrow for filming." She says. And leaves. Leaves me alone with the sounds of the city and a hurricane of thoughts.

"Bye."

...

Alex's bruised face is not looking happy today. It's all crinkled and his eyebrows are furrowed and I really don't want to annoy him. I can almost see steam coming out his ears, though can't imagine what's got him so riled up.

I'm keeping my distance from him. We're out on the streets again, just outside our building. The cameras are set up and Alex is shouting at his crew. I guess he's so angry because of how long Mimi and Roger took to get their scene right yesterday. But still, he doesn't have to start the new day in a bad mood.

This scene is weird. Benny is here. Benny - ex-roommate, wealthy, heartless Benny.

I haven't seen him for months, since he left to marry Alison, and he really doesn't look pleased to be here. Alex told him that he would be appearing for just this one episode, and they'd pay him generously. Benny doesn't need money, it's the one thing he doesn't need. But he agreed reluctantly.

"January 4th, 2021, 12 PM. Eastern Standard Time." I say, "I'm stepping out onto No Man's Land in a moment of truce to confer with the enemy."

I laugh, looking into Alex's eyes for support. But he just looks fed up. He's barely even paying attention to what kind of shots the cameras are getting. And, from the look on his face, I'm not sure I want to know what he's thinking - or planning.

I gesture to where Benny's standing, typing away on his phone.

"See Benjamin Coffin lll." I say, "Back in Alphabet City for the first time in months, no doubt feeling uncomfortable surrounded by people less fortunate than himself."

The young woman with the biggest camera gives me a thumbs up, seeming to catch onto the fact that her boss is currently in a world of his own.

"Isn't that right Benny?" I shout over to him.

It feels so weird doing this. It may be staged, but this is genuinely the first time he has been back down here since he left us for riches. There's so much tension between us, and I know that will just make the performance seem more genuine. But I don't want to fix things with this man, wanted us to just keep living separately, wanted him out of my life forever.

It's just one day. One film. Then he's gone. Then I never have to see him again. Just deal with it, get on with this, get the scene out the way, get over myself.

"Mark." He says, giving me a curt nod, "You look well."

The worst part is that I can't tell if this is just for the cameras, or if this really is us having a conversation of reconciliation.

"As do you." I say, "How's Alison?"

Still rich, presumably. Still keeping him entertained better than his old friends could.

I sometimes wonder what it was she gave him that me, Collins, Roger and Maureen couldn't. We had laughs, we had fun. We would hit the town, get on with our arts and our lives together.

Benny was once the soul of the loft. He would cheer us up if we needed it, he'd crack jokes, play games. He always came up with these crazy ideas for things we could do to stay entertained, to get our minds off our hunger.

He was a good man, with a good heart. Until one day, that heart was no more.

Does Alison make him laugh like we did? Does she go along with all his mental ideas? Does she run through town screaming out dares with him? Does she give him everything we did?

I used to tell myself that he only left because of the money. I know nothing about Alison so had no judgement on whether she was a loveable person or not. I thought maybe he'd left just for the sex, seeing as that was one thing we wouldn't offer him.

I don't think I'll ever know what happened to Benny, and I don't mind anymore. He has his own thing now. He can do it, but somewhere out of my way.

"She's good." He says, "Where's Roger?"

"Inside." I say quickly.

He frowns, "Still?"

Now, this is wrong. This is just me and Benny catching up. We may be doing it in front of an audience, but this is us filling each other in on our lives. And in his eyes, there's a flash of sadness, almost like he still cares about us.

But he doesn't. He left us. He walked away and never looked back. He doesn't care about how we're doing, because he never came over to check, not until it involved being paid. This is acting and I can't fall for it. Benny doesn't care.

"Yes." I say coldly, "Hasn't been out since..."

"Since April?" He says.

I nod.

He looks uncomfortable and I can't decide if it's because he's talking to me after so long, or if it's being on this side of town again after living in a beautiful area with his wife.

"Why are you here?" I ask. I don't want to exchange any more pleasantries. I want to get him away.

"Well." He scratches at his neck, "I had to come down and tell you that your rent is overdue."

"What? You said we were golden, that we didn't have to worry about paying. You know, back when we were friends." I say.

"Yeah, well now I'm saying that unless you pay soon, you'll be evicted." He says.

I stare at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry Mark, I just-"

"Save it! I don't want your excuses. Just get yourself back where you belong and quit meddling with our lives." I shout.

"I'm really sorry." He says sadly, "I'm sorry if things are great for you all at the minute."

And it sounds like he's apologising to me, the real me. For leaving us to freeze and starve, leaving us for some woman and her cash. But I can't hear it. I don't want his apologies. Apologies won't help me help Roger. Apologies won't clear up the mess he's left us in.

"No you're not." I say, turning away from him, "And I don't accept the apology."

He sighs, but I don't feel guilty. If he was really that fussed about apologising for real, he'd come over sometime and say it believably. Not this meaningless display of emotion he's giving me in front of a camera. This is a public apology and not what the situation requires and until he understands that, I'm not forgiving him.

"Give Roger my best." He says.

And I turn to him again.

"Fuck you!" I shout.

He can he? Pretend to care? Give me a fake apology and hope things will actually be okay between us? Make up for everything he's done? This man knows that something's going on with Roger. He's claiming to be concerned, but can't be bothered to even talk to him himself. That says it all for me.

As I swear at him, I mean it. I want him to know that I'm angry, that things aren't alright. Fuck you Benny, you've caused all this, I hate you and this is not the way to sort things out.

Benny goes. I never want to see his face again. He isn't worth my time.

Alex is glaring. I don't know if it's at me or just at life in general. He looks deep in thought and I don't want to know what he's thinking about.

Tomorrow RENT will be aired. Tomorrow we see what this is going to do to our private lives and our relationships. Tomorrow will reveal everything.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roger is angsty - wait, that's just the description of this whole book, oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w past death

Roger's P.O.V

_"Play me something." He says._

_We lie beside each other, the grass tickling the backs of our necks. He plays with my hair, smiling with his eyes shut. He's the reason I haven't cut my hair yet, he says it suits me long. And I love to make him happy._

_"I haven't been able to write anything." I admit, "I can't get the lyrics right."_

_He just keeps smiling._

_"I don't care. Play something that already exists. Anything you play is perfect." He says._

_The willow tree watches over us, its leaves reaching down to brush our skin. This tree is our guardian. While no one else may approve of us, this tree is our greatest supporter. That's why we always choose this spot to meet at._

_The tree's old and there's been a lot of talk of chopping it down recently. But the two of us told the maintenance guys that we'd chain ourselves to its trunk and they'd have to take us down with it. And apparently, murdering two kids isn't something they want to do._

_The tree's old but it's everything we have. The tree is where we first met, the force that brought us together. And the tree will be where we end._

_"But how can you enjoy a song that you already know?" I ask._

_He's still smiling, but thoughtfully as he props himself up on elbows to look into my eyes._

_"Roger, when you play me a song, even if it's one that I've heard before, it's like you're giving that song new life. When you sing it, it's reborn. Anyone can make a song, not many people can bring a song to life." He keeps staring into my eyes, "You can sing something, and it's like I'm hearing it for the first time."_

_Tears prick my eyes. He pulls me over so that our sides are touching and kisses the top of my head gently. It gets me every time, this loving contact. It's something so unfamiliar to me, and something I'm still trying to get used to._

_"You're biased." I laugh._

_"Perhaps." He shrugs, "That's what love does."_

_Love. He doesn't throw the word around lightly. Until today, we've avoided saying it. We both feel it, the unspoken feelings we share. But he knows me and he cares. He knows of my father and his expectations and he makes sure that we take things as slowly as I need to._

_In truth, I'm sick of going slow. But I don't know how to make a relationship work, especially one that I'll be hated for. Dating a boy will mean the end of reputations._

_"What do you want me to play?" I ask._

_His face lives in my memory. The deep eyes filled with a million emotions that I'm yet to experience. The caramel of his smooth skin and the dimple of his cheek. The short, curly hair._

_Yet his name is censored as always. It's a shield._

_"Something old." He says, "Something I know."_

_So I pick up the guitar, the guitar he gave me just hours ago, the guitar that's going to be confiscated tonight. It feels so strange in my hands. I've taught myself how to play with the ones at school, sitting in the music room with him at breaks. It feels so surreal having a guitar in my hand, knowing that it's mine._

_It's something I would never have been able to imagine. I don't have family members who would indulge my interests, would let me pursue my dreams and buy something like this. Something "weak" as my father would say, something that no teenage boy should want._

_But here he is, the boy who confuses me. Who kisses me, but still I don't dare say I love._

_I start to strum the guitar quietly, him shutting his eyes again and letting my music wash over him. I love how he falls silent to let me play, never interrupting me while I'm the zone._

_"Look into my eyes. You will see what you mean to me. Search your heart, search your soul. And when you find me there, you'll search no more." My voice is uncertain and wobbly as it fills the air._

_The breeze drops, as if the tree wants to listen too. Birds perch in its branches, their twitterings coming to a stop. Nature has reached a standstill. It says the significance of this moment, it's hanging on our every word, asking if one of us will finally confess._

_Everyone can see that we love each other, even we can see. We just don't want to say it. Because once it's out there, it's a commitment. It can't be taken back. And I'm not sure yet if I'm ready for a relationship that I'll have to keep secret._

_"Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for. You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for. You know it's true - everything I do, I do it for you."_

_My fingers burn by the end of the song and my throat is sore, but it's worth it when he opens his eyes._

_"Bryan Adams who?" He laughs, "He'd be cursing you right now, you just improved his song."_

_I blush lightly, setting down the guitar and resting my head on his shoulder. He plays with my hair again and I know he's smiling without even having to look._

_Moments like this are so perfect. We can forget what we're hiding from when we're here. Everything is beautiful in this world, with only the tree and the birds to see what's going on between us._

_The song was a terrible choice, but I didn't know that then. I didn't know that he really would end up dying for our love, just like the song said, that this would be the last of these moments. That the willow tree would see our end as his blood was spilt on its roots._

_"Roger." He says, breaking the comfortable silence we've fallen into._

_"Yes?"_

_"Do you think we should try doing this?" He asks quietly, gesturing at us._

_"Do you?" I ask._

_"I think I'd like to try." He says._

_I nod, falling into silence again. Do I want this? I love him, I really do. But do I want to risk him getting hurt when my father finds out? And does he really want me? Does he want to deal with the ugly, broken side of me? Is this something we should really commit ourselves to?_

_"******." I say, his name blanked out of course._

_"Yes?"_

_I take a deep breath, hold his hand, look into his eyes._

_"I think...I love you." I say._

_And his face breaks into a wide grin, his hands cupping my chin as he pulls me into a sweet kiss. As our lips meet, I know I've made the right choice. I know that I love him, and that this is the best thing I've ever done._

_Turns out, that was the most wrong I'd ever been. I'd doomed him that day with those words. My love ended him._

_He was gone the next day, leaving me alone with my father. The guitar was banned, locked away, and the boy I loved was dead._

_I ran away years later, dropped out of college and became just another homeless junkie living with the ghosts of his past. At night I would still see his face, hear his voice, feel his lips. And I asked the universe, "why him? He was innocent? I was the bad one. Why not me?"_

_Why were we robbed of time? Why did I only get to kiss him once?_

...

"Hey. How are you?"

Mark's so obvious. His worrying is not subtle and it's clear to see why he's asking me. He saw me cry, he probably knows what I said to Angel, he's wondering how I'll react to the first three episodes being released today.

He may as well give up. I love him and I'm not making the mistake of telling him, not this time. The less he knows, the safer he is.

"Fine." I say.

Mark frowns. Someone's definitely put him up to this. Probably Angel.

"I was planning on going out to film tonight. There's going to be a swap meet downtown and I was thinking of getting some interviews. You want to come?" He asks.

I see he doesn't believe I will come. He's asking, but holds no hope in me saying yes.

"Sure." I say, smirking when his eyes widen.

"Really?" He can't even disguise the excitement and it's so cute, "You haven't wanted to go anywhere with me for ages!"

I laugh, "Yeah. But I'd like to today."

He's grinning so widely and for a minute I'm annoyed at myself. Have I really been hiding away so much that he'd get this happy over me wanting to go somewhere with him? Have I really pushed him away so far that this comes as a shock? Have I been that bad of a friend?

I've been trying to protect him, but has it just been hurting him?

"Great! I'll come find you later, okay?" He says.

"Okay."

He rushes off, probably to feed back the news to someone. Are they all just on a team trying to look after me? It's kind of endearing, kind of annoying. I'm not a baby. I don't need to be watched over.

There's no filming today because the episodes are airing. For all I know, this could be the last time I'm able to go out without people knowing who I am. May as well enjoy my opportunity.

I have to admit that I'm looking forward to going out with Mark later. It'll be like what we used to do, when we'd first met each other - me helping him film and having fun while we did it. We were just two friends, two best friends, battling the world side-by-side.

I want to think that things are okay. But in mere hours my life is going to be broadcast around the world, ready to be picked apart by ravenous eyes. And I can't stop myself from thinking about him and the way he was so cruelly taken from me. Not to mention my feelings for Mark that I'm terrified will get out.

I don't remember when I last just spent time with Mark. I know we used to, but that was a different life. That was when Benny still lived here and me and Mark were closer. When we would sit together at night and imagine a perfect world.

I've missed it more than I realised. I've missed him. Has he missed me too?

I love Mark. But now I'm asking myself if he might love me too.

...

To sum the swap meet up in one word would be: depressing.

I don't know what it is about this thing that lights up Mark's face as his fingers twitch around the camera. He must be looking at a different thing entirely, because all I see here is pain and suffering.

It's packed full of people, poor people just like us. The people that Alex's show is supposedly raising awareness for. They're all shouting and shoving, desperately trying to be heard over the voices. Trying to sell, buy and trade.

This place is depressing because everyone's eyes look panicked. I know that if these people don't sell enough here, they'll be short on money. And the money they earn here is the difference between life and death, living and dying.

This is how these people have been forced to survive. Whatever money they get today could keep them alive for a few more weeks, whatever money they miss out on could be the end of the road for them.

Mark sees this as a place of life. To me, it's one of death. These people are fighting to get by in the world, there's nothing charming about their frantic shouts as they lower the cost of their items.

Each time they call out the prices and the products and get ignored, it makes me want to leave more. I don't want to see the homeless battling against life itself. I don't want to see their lives; the life that was once mine.

But Mark wants to film. He sees something in this place that I don't. Maybe he's just better at spotting the light in a situation; a skill easily acquired after a life with me. And don't think I haven't noticed the way he keeps smiling at me, looking over his shoulder to check I'm really here and he isn't dreaming.

I've missed seeing him so happy. I can't believe I've let myself damage him all this time, without even noticing. I need to make up for it, prove to him that I do still care and that I don't need help. 

Mark's set up his camera over in a far corner of the market and is interviewing some of the sellers. Strangely, they all seem willing to talk to him. Maybe they're lonely and have just been waiting for someone to show up who takes an interest in their lives. Misjudged. Homeless but not heartless.

He's laughing. This woman with dark skin and long dreadlocks is staring straight into the camera and her mouth is moving rapidly. The more she says, the more Mark laughs.

I love seeing him like this; completely in his element. He has this drive, this passion, this determination. Perseverance is a skill Mark has in abundance, and I seriously lack. He never gives up on his filming, no matter what's going on, because it's something he enjoys. Unlike me - I just get stuck and quit.

Mark has what it takes. Watching him at work is like seeing magic happen before your eyes. It's impossible to explain, but seeing the smile on his face as he asks the woman about her life, it makes me feel alive. It makes me feel warm just being near him.

I just lean on the wall and watch it all unfold. Watch as the woman kisses Mark on the cheek, pulls him into a big hug, and then walks away to get back to selling. And the cycle begins again, as the next person starts to talk to him.

One person, another, ten people, twenty. All getting a chance to tell their story. All finding human comfort in their dark world. It makes me wish I could bring something like this to someone, that I could make someone smile like he is.

He's inspiring. His drive, his ambition, his bravery. Suddenly, the swap meet doesn't look depressing. Now it looks beautiful; all these unfortunate people joining hands as a community - metaphorically speaking. They're all buying from each other, all smiling as they do so.

They aren't competing anymore. Now they're surviving together. And Mark has done that. In opening up this window into their lives, he's given them a chance to thrive as one. I really have just seen a miracle performed.

As the sun begins to set and the vendors start to disperse, Mark packs away his camera. He tells me that he's going to edit this footage and try to use it for some big project he's apparently working on.

His hand slips into mine and I tell myself that it's platonic. It's to show he's here. His eyes meet mine and I can see what they're trying to tell me:

_I love you._

But I pretend I don't get the message. I can't let Mark love me. Because if he does, and he lets me tell him how I feel, I'll lose him too. I'll have my heart broken a second time. I can't let him die because of me, I can't let anything happen to him.

So I just smile. I know he's disappointed, but he still smiles back. He's also happy that I even wanted to come out with him; it's still a win in his book.

Mark loves me, I'm almost certain. I love him too, I've known for years. But we can't be together, we can't love each other. Because I've seen this all before and I know how it ends. There is no rewriting it. Love always finishes with death.

But I still let him hold my hand. As friends, I tell myself. It doesn't matter that I love him. Anyone watching us now can only see friends, both hideously in love with each other, but one of them too scared to admit.

We will still sleep in the same bed tonight, but as friends who are oblivious to one another's fears. Because another relationship, even after all this time, will kill me. I can't kiss someone else, when I can still taste _his_ lips. The lips I was only given one chance to feel.

"Do you want to go back?" He asks.

I shake my head. Not back to the home that isn't ours anymore. I want to stay with him.

He smiles. "Okay then. What do you want to do?"

"I hear the Life Cafe's lovely at this time of night." I say.

He laughs, "Only if you're paying."

"How dare you?" I say in mock-offense, "Making me pay, absolutely disgraceful."

He just laughs again and holds my hand tighter. I make myself not think about it, or about how this feels so much like a date. I don't want to dwell on the inner workings of my relationship with Mark. All it'll do is hurt me.

"Come on." He says, slapping my arm lightly, "You're older than me. It's law."

"Four months older." I say, "And I'm not a genius, but I don't think that's a law."

He looks at me in shock, "Are you questioning my knowledge?"

I get down on my knee, saying over and over in my head that this is fine, that I shouldn't make this weird. This is banter, just like we used to share. This is me overthinking things.

"Of course not." I say, bowing at his feet.

He grabs the collar of my jacket, pulling me to my feet. There's a fleeting shine in his eyes that makes me worry that he's about to kiss me, but then it's gone and he's just using his hand to mess up my hair.

"Good." He says, "Now let's go."

And as he takes my hand in his again, leading the way down the street to the cafe, I can't stop myself from smiling. Nothing has changed between us. This is exactly how we used to be, before everything became awkward.

Love kills. But love also heals.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things start to go bad

Mark's P.O.V

The airing of RENT is one of those gradual changes. You know how when a star dies, you'll still see it up in the night sky for years after? It's like that; happening far away and taking its time to affect us.

I even begin to think that maybe nothing will change. Maybe the star doesn't have to die at all, so it never disappears from the sky. Maybe we can keep living as normal and I'll get a chance to finally tell Roger that I love him.

But then it happens. The change sets in. It makes an impact. The star burns out.

One of the crew members shows me an article on her phone. It's titled _"Gritty New Reality-TV Show Destined To Be The Next Big Thing?"_ And it pretty much just goes on about how our show has taken the nation by storm in the course of a week, and how the world has fallen in love with us.

Talking about us as actors, saying we might be having our big break, this might not be the last people see of us. The article raves about how much people enjoy the authentic side of it; they all wish they could do more to help the impoverished. They're so thankful we've let them see what it's like living here et cetera.

A load of shit really. But still, I can't help being a little excited.

It's weird. If you Google "RENT" it brings up results with pictures of us, information about us, about the show's history, about the inspiration, about Alex.

I've not read any of the pages myself yet. I don't really want to hear what critics think of me and my friends. I don't want to see them tear Roger apart for crying or them saying bad things about Angel's identity. The Internet's a horrible place.

There are even YouTube videos popping up of people reacting to our show (all the thumbnails show people in tears) and talking about their thoughts. And that's not even the weirdest thing.

"Mark, we got our first fanfiction!" Mimi calls out, tilting one of the crew members' phones towards me.

"What?"

"Look!" She says, "The grammar's awful and it seems like it was written by a seven-year-old. But still!"

Something really isn't right about that. People writing about us. Young people. Oh God, I've seen the kind of stuff they come up with. They start pairing you up with friends and with the writer themselves. They write the most disgusting sex scenes that make you want to curl up and die because they have no right and do they not respect privacy?

Those are the kind of things that ruin lives.

"It's weird." She laughs, "It's about you."

"Me?" My heart seems to stop for a minute. Oh no. Roger was right to be worried. This show was a terrible idea. Now I've got teenagers writing things online about me.

"Don't look so scared!" She says, "It's nothing bad! Kind of annoying that I'm not in it though, but I'm sure we'll get more soon enough!"

I don't understand why Mimi's so thrilled by this. But then again, she does seem to like attention. No, not attention. Validation. She likes to know that she matters to people, likes to be reminded that she's important.

Our brains just work differently.

"But." She says, "They seem to really like the idea of you making out with a certain someone."

She elbows me playfully, smirking.

"Who?"

"Are you that dumb?" Mimi says, "Roger! The fans seem to think you're secretly enamoured with him!"

I laugh awkwardly, "Why would they think that?"

Rhetorical question. Unfortunately, Mimi doesn't get that hint and starts to answer.

"Well, you know how you talk about him not leaving the house? People seem to see you as this kind guy who looked after him through that because you love him. Crazy, right?" She nudges me again, laughing.

"Yeah." I say, trying to laugh.

But that is what happened. And these people are messing with that.

I did look after Roger when he wouldn't go out. Because I loved him. Random people shouldn't know that. But more than that: Roger can't find out that people know.

Not after the nights we've shared this past week where we sit and we talk and it's like we've gone back in time. Despite my apparently unrequited feelings, everything's been so much better between us than it has for a while.

I can still remember Angel telling me that he needed me. Maybe that had some influence on my decision to start spending more time with him at first. But now, I just want to because I'm rediscovering how much I enjoy us being alone together.

I haven't tried to make him tell me any of the things he's keeping inside. I don't want to lose his trust again, now that I'm just starting to win it back. All I want now is to spend as much time with Roger as possible. I live to see him happy.

Mimi narrows her eyes and examines me. She leans right into my face and I can feel the warm breath and smell the beer - faintly, but it's still there. Her eyes flick up and down, up and down. If she's searching for something, I have no clue what it is.

"Wait." She says slowly, "Do you..."

And then she blinks, pauses, takes a closer look at me.

"You love him!" She announces, laughing so hard it must hurt. She bends over, laughing and laughing until she's out of breath.

She wipes her eyes and sighs and I don't know what she finds so amusing about this.

"You done yet?" I mutter.

"Yeah, I think." She says, "But wow Mark. You love him."

Now she's just gazing at me in shocked amusement, scanning my face for any answers.

"Oh, sorry about having to flirt with him in the show." She snickers, clamping a hand to her mouth to stop another fit of laughter.

"Thanks." I say.

She looks at me again, opens her mouth to ask something, and shakes her head. I can imagine it was something along the lines of wondering how long I've loved Roger, what made me fall in love with him. But even Mimi knows not to pry.

The loft's spookily quiet. This once would have been normal; just a couple of people in it. But the crew's been in here so long that I've gotten used to their constant noise.

They're outside filming a scene with Maureen and Joanne. I haven't seen either of them since the first episode and have spared a few thoughts to worry about their relationship. They didn't seem too happy when they finished their onstage argument.

I also haven't seen much of Alex recently. He didn't even come to congratulate us on the success of RENT. He's been disappearing a lot, looking angry all the time, and I've been wondering what he's up to.

The star may have died, but it's still flickering weakly in the sky. Not gone yet. Maybe in a few more weeks, it will vanish and we see the extent to which we'll be affected.

To date, RENT hasn't caused any harm.

...

"Why do we have to keep fighting?"

"Because, Ms. Jefferson, it is your dynamic. It's the role you two have to play." Alex's smooth voice replies.

"What if I don't like the role I'm playing?" Joanne demands.

"Yeah! What she said." Maureen says.

The three of them are just outside the door. This is the first time Alex hasn't sounded angry for days. Now he just sounds fed up, as if the people he's talking to are hardly worth his time.

"Because you signed a contract." Alex says, "You agreed to be the characters I designed."

"No!" Joanne says, "We agreed to help you act out our lives! This is not my life!"

"But you two have fallen out a lot in the past?" Alex asks.

Quiet.

"Yes."

"So this is your life?" I hate the smugness in his voice, even if I can't see his face.

"No." Joanne says, "We stopped fighting ages ago."

"Did you?" Alex says.

"Yes! Our relationship is fixed now!" Maureen shouts.

I can imagine his face; smirking through the faint traces of bruises. I want one of them to hit him, give him what he deserves.

Because suddenly I'm afraid that Roger's right, that Alex is messing up our lives and only wants to make us suffer. Why else would he be saying all this? Why else would he try to make Maureen and Joanne doubt their relationship? Is he really trying to break our family?

"Really?" Alex says softly.

Quiet again.

"Stop it!" Joanne shouts, "Stop making me question things!"

"I'm not doing anything." He says, "You're the one who's questioning. Why would you do that if I was just putting things in your head?"

"Don't you see what you're doing!" Joanne says, "By making us fight for the cameras, you're damaging our real relationship!"

"It's all you." Alex says quietly.

I see it. Alex making Joanne and Maureen fall out. Just acting. But when they argue, it must remind them of the real arguments. Of course, it's enough to make you worry about the healthiness of your relationship. Because their role is to be dysfunctional and this is based off real life.

So, if the outside world sees them as dysfunctional, they're definitely going to worry about what's true.

It hits me. Roger was right. Alex may not mean to do it, but he is destroying things here.

"I'll leave you two alone." He says.

Quiet that seems to stretch on forever.

"Jo..." Maureen says, "Just ignore him. We're fine."

There's a sob, a cough, an intake of breath.

"I don't think we are." Joanne says, "We need some time apart."

"What!"

"Please." Joanne's voice breaks and I know that she's crying.

Footsteps. The sharp click of heels. Maureen walks away. Alex has ruined their relationship.

The door slides open and I meet Joanne's eyes. She looks so tired, so worn-down - a look I never thought I would see on her. She's the uptight lawyer, she shouldn't look so weak. Her eyes are red and her cheeks stained with tears. Even her shirt is untucked.

I hold out my arms and she sinks into my chest, hugging the life out of me. Her tears fall on my clothes but I don't care.

The star has died. We can no longer see it.

Alex has broken something. Will it be the last of its kind?

Everything seems to be spinning out of control. If the show has already done this to us, what will have happened by the end? How many more stars will be missing from our sky?

"What have we done Mark?" Joanne sobs into my chest.

I don't know. I don't know.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w for past suicide and transphobic slur

Roger's P.O.V

It's okay at first. Mark's sleeping next to me, his body pressed against mine. It's nothing unusual. I shouldn't have a problem with it.

But then I start to think. Suddenly he feels far too close. I want him off me. Because this is cruel. I'm getting his hopes up. I can't lead him on like this.

I get out of the bed slowly. I can't do this to him. I can't let him love me.

Normally I would go and sit on the sofa, but that's out of bounds now. Just one of the many prices we're paying to live like this. One of the other costs is love apparently. Maureen and Joanne have broken up but they've still got to act as a couple for the cameras.

Just as I predicted. Alex tears us apart. Everything goes to hell behind the scenes, but we still have to act like nothing's changed for the sake of the show.

Stage one complete. How long before the rest of us are affected too?

I knew it. They were wrong, I was right. But I'm too exhausted to be smug, to be angry, to shout at someone. There's too much going on. Too many things I can't make sense of.

Voices meet me as I walk out of the bedroom. They're coming from the bathroom. I recognise the bitter snarl of Alex among them.

"I've got a plan." He whispers to whoever's in there with him, "I know how to get back at the tranny."

No one answers so he continues.

"Next week." He says, "The park. Make sure there's a big enough rock near the river."

And I'm flying past the sleeping bodies, away from Alex's words and up onto the roof.

I can't breathe. I can't think. He's planning something awful, something worse than I'd ever imagined. Something involving Angel. Next week - by then he'll be out of the wheelchair. Maybe I should beat him up again, delay his plot. But what good would that do? He'll still find a way.

Can't breathe. Angel's in danger. Alex is evil. What can I do? I don't know what he's going to do, I don't even know the date. How can I prevent this? How can I help her? After all she's done for me, now I can't find a way to possibly save her life. I'm useless.

The cold air shocks me, stings my face. I stand here, on top of the world, panting for a moment. Let my lungs take in the oxygen they cry out for. Let my brain slowly process the things I've just heard.

Breathe.

Angel's safe with Collins. Alex can't get her. Collins is there to make sure. And she's too clever to agree to meet him anywhere. Alex is underestimating her; she'll never fall for any of his tricks.

I'm the only other one who knows. Do I tell someone? Do I warn Angel or Collins or ask Mark or Mimi to help? Do I keep it to myself - just like I do with everything? Is it my job to look out for her this time, to make up for all the times she's done it for me? Is the responsibility sitting solely on my shoulders?

How do I do this? How do I do this when it's all down to me? I can't. But I need to. I'm the only one able to help. I'm the only one who knows the truth about Alex.

All my life I've been the victim. Now I've got to be the saviour.

...

The guitar shouldn't be back in my hands. After being taken away so many times. First by my father, then by Alex. It feels like I'm breaking laws just by touching it.

Mark convinced him to let me have it back. Alex wrote it into the story; apparently, I'm going to find some money and use it to buy a guitar. Like I care. The show can suck my dick. I don't care if things fit perfectly with it or not.

Because when I hold it, I can see his face the day he gave it to me. I remember how he took me behind the tree and said he'd got something for me. I told him he shouldn't have, that I didn't need anything. But then he pressed the instrument into my hands and smiled as the tears started to fall from my eyes. Because no one had ever gotten me something so thoughtful, so expensive.

I look down on New York. So many people. Living and dying. Bad people and good people. People who make mistakes and people who have to pay for them. How can we tell the difference? What separates these types of people?

Mark made a mistake in accepting this offer. Now Maureen and Joanne are paying for it. Angel is paying for it. I'm paying for it.

I made a mistake years ago under that tree, when I let the words "I love you" out of my mouth. I'm still paying for that one.

Alex made a mistake announcing his plans out loud. But I don't know how to make him pay for it.

I look at my hands, the rough skin of my palms and the dents of my fingertips. Signs that this guitar has touched me, that I have used it before. I've been using it since I ran away, since I let the boy I loved die.

Muscle memory takes the lead. I let my hands move on their own.

"Look into my eyes. You will see what you mean to me." And my voice is so, so weak and scratchy and broken. My hands tremble as I pluck out the chords.

"Search your heart, search your soul. And when you find me there, you'll search no more."

I see him. The next day, me running to school, excited to be there for the first time in my life. On my way to the tree; we always met there before going into school. The tree covered in blood, his body bent and twisted and face stretched into this desperate cry for help; one that no one heard. 

I found him. I saw him, saw what I'd done. No one knew how he died but that didn't matter. The important bit was that he had died, that he wasn't coming back, that it was all because I'd said I loved him.

"Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for. You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for." There are tears and I'm shaking because no, it wasn't worth dying for. This is what I sang him the night before, and then he was dead and it wasn't worth it.

I want to scream at the people below, shout at them to help, to get me out of here before I go mad. Look at them; walking around the streets, getting on with their normal lives. And then there's me; crying and singing on top of a building because his childhood love is dead and his more-than-friend has sold them all out in a bid to ruin lives.

Because everything is collapsing around me. Everything I know is crumbling away and leaving me to pick up my life from the piles of rubble, sifting through the dirt to see if there's anything I recognise left anymore.

The walls are caving in and the world is shrinking. There's nothing outside of here. I'm trapped in this place, having to act things out that should stay buried in history, rather than be put up on TV.

"You know it's true - everything I do, I do it for-" And my voice stops working as my body is taken over by my sobbing. The tears come so fast that I can't see and I can barely get a breath in. I want to hit something, feel some pain, anything to distract me from this.

I let myself cry on the roof because this is a song for a dead boy, because I'm running out of time to help Angel, and because I'm in the same position again but with Mark this time; in love, but too sensible to say it.

...

When Mimi asks if I'd like to go for a walk with her, I gladly accept. I know she's on Team Mark and is just trying to get me out, but for once I don't want to be inside. Not to hear Alex, to worry about Angel, to miss _him._

Because when I think of _him_ , I'm again confronted by my feelings for Mark. And I tell myself that I love him, but I shouldn't, but I can't. Love him from afar. He can't know or he'll die too.

Mimi looks surprised but pleased, says she's found a beautiful spot in the park that she wants to show someone.

I don't even give a thought to people recognising us from the show. No consideration. We won't be famous enough. I don't even think about it.

Mimi grabs her coat, throws it over her shoulders, and takes my hand. Her face is split into this wide grin. I have no idea why she's so happy, but the sight makes me smile too.

The air is cool and fresh and it reminds me of being on the roof early this morning. Except this time, I'm not alone. And now I'm not watching the people from above, I'm mixing in with them and pretending my life is just as dull as theirs.

Mimi continues to pull me all the way, laughing and smiling as she tells me to hurry up. I walk even slower and she hits me gently, calling me words that I didn't even know existed.

"I don't know why I asked you." She mutters, "You of all people. I'm sure Angel would've appreciated this more."

I just laugh and let her lead me to the park. Everything just melts away out here. There's nothing to fear, just watch the people around me, let myself relax and just enjoy Mimi's company. It's been a while since we've had a chance to go somewhere just to hang out; not RENT related.

For a moment, fear pops into my head. What's Alex going to do to the two of us? What seeds will he plant in her brain? Just like he made Joanne question her reality, is there something he's got in mind for us?

If he wants to break all of us apart, he's got to do something to Mimi. So what is it?

Or am I just being paranoid? Maybe what happened with Maureen and Joanne was just a mistake. Maybe he didn't mean to do it. Maybe he isn't really out to get us.

Just out to get Angel.

"Almost there!" Mimi says, pulling on my arm even harder.

"Slow down. You're gonna dislocate something." I say.

She just rolls her eyes and keeps on moving. My arm's beginning to ache, so it's a relief when the park comes into sight. I've been here so many times, I don't know what she could possibly want to show me here.

But then I see it.

"What do you think?" She asks.

There's a willow tree. She wouldn't know why I notice that first, but that doesn't matter. The point is that there's a willow tree.

And when I blink, I can see blood staining its roots, soaking into the soil.

The birds are silent again. They look down solemnly at his body.

But I open my eyes and his body isn't there. There's no blood. Just Mimi, smiling expectantly.

And I see what she wanted to show me.

There are these trees. They're cherry blossom trees but their branches hold only buds. They're short and thin and they're Mimi's favourite, always have been. She once told me that when she died, she wanted to be buried and have one of them grow from the soil around her.

Next to the trees is a wall - old, powdery brick that seems to have lasted forever. But on the wall-

"Someone painted it last night." She says, "I thought you'd like it."

On the wall, in red spray paint, are the words:

_"ARTISTS ARE THE TRUE WARRIORS."_

And it's not fancy, there's not any pictures. Just the sentence. And that sentence is all there needs to be.

"They're saying it was painted by someone who watched our show." Mimi says, "Someone who admires us."

"Wow."

RENT has touched people. Maybe it has done a good thing. People are learning to appreciate people like us a bit more, just like Mark hoped. Maybe not everything that comes out of this show will be bad.

The words are a bit of light. I'm almost proud I'm a part of the show. We've done this. We've inspired people. We're teaching them the truth.

We are the warriors.

...

Mimi was right. I did love the mural in the park. I am glad she showed me.

We walk back slower, talking about the graffiti and about good memories, about how weird it is pretending to be a couple for the show, and about the people we care about.

"I'm just waiting for the one where we have to actually kiss." She says, grimacing.

"Hey, I'm not that bad. Don't look so disgusted." I say.

She raises an eyebrow, "Debatable. I have standards, you know?"

"Oh I see, you've just never kissed someone as great as me."

She laughs, "Very funny. I just mean, I could live without knowing what your lips taste like."

And vice versa. There's only one person I've ever kissed and only once. I wasn't allowed to kiss him and now I'm being made to kiss Mimi. The world is so unfair.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it." I say and she mimes throwing up.

A scream interrupts us. It's quiet and more excited than panicked. I look up to see a teenage girl with hot pink hair staring straight at me.

"Oh no." Mimi whispers, "Run."

"What? Why?" I ask.

Mimi turns away from the girl, her eyes fixed ahead, moving quickly. But I don't move. I don't know what's going on. Who is this person? Why is she so pleased to see us? And why is Mimi speed-walking away?

Then it clicks. Fans. I forgot all about people knowing our faces off the show. God, I overlooked it completely.

But it's too late to copy Mimi now.

"Is it really you?" The girl asks, her eyes wide and shining. The only thing I can be thankful for right now, is the fact that she hasn't got her phone out.

Mimi turns, puts on a smile.

"Yeah, I think so." She says, digging her elbow into my ribs. Fuck, I'm sorry I didn't get her hint to run.

The girl squeals, "Oh my God! You sound exactly the same!"

Mimi laughs awkwardly, glaring at me from the corner of her eye.

"I'm Emma." She says, "And I'm like, your biggest fan!"

The show hasn't been out long enough for us to have many fans, so she hasn't exactly got a lot of competition going for that title. To be honest, it's creepy. We're people, not characters. It's really weird having people who we don't know love us.

"Thanks." Mimi says, softening a little.

Emma grins again, "I just want to say that you two are the cutest couple!"

We both freeze. Glance at each other. Cringe. Of course, the world thinks it's all true. The world thinks that we are dating. The world's going to make these assumptions about us because of Alex's decision.

Alex is meddling again and I hadn't even seen it. He's making everyone see mine and Mimi's relationship in a different way to how we see it. It's Maureen and Joanne all over again.

Mimi's smile looks more like a scowl.

"Thanks." She says, spitting the words out like they burn her mouth.

Emma doesn't notice. She bounces on her heels and grins at us again.

"Can I ask some questions?" She asks.

"Actually we were just heading-"

"It won't take long!" Emma cuts Mimi off.

Mimi sighs, "Okay."

Emma's eyes set on mine and I'm suddenly uncomfortable. There are so many questions flashing through her head, itching to be let loose on me. I can see the hunger, exactly what I feared when I agreed to be in the show. She wants to examine my life, to scrutinise me.

"Is it all true?" She asks, "Even the bit about your ex-girlfriend killing herself?"

And something explodes in my head. I hear Mimi's gasp of horror, see my hands reaching forward to shove Emma onto the floor. But I don't feel it.

I hear the crying of the girl, hear Mimi comforting her, hear the pounding of the blood in my brain.

But I don't feel bad for the girl I lashed out at, because my own tears are dripping down my face as I run away from the mess I've caused, because I'm in the middle of a battlefield again and I don't know which way the gunfire is coming from.

I don't know who I am.

Two people I've hurt within two weeks. I'm falling back. I'm slipping. I'm becoming the person he hated so much, the person I hated so much.

My chest heaves as I sob, briefly wondering how I'm still able to cry. Have I not got all my tears out already?

RENT is causing bad things that outnumber the good. It's making me do bad things.

The wall was wrong. The artists are not the warriors. We're the killers.


	9. 9

Mark's P.O.V

"Mimi, what's wrong?"

She just keeps crying.

"Where's Roger?"

...

He isn't back. It's been four hours since Mimi arrived in hysterics. Four hours of sitting and waiting and hoping. Hoping that he hasn't done anything stupid out there.

"He pushed her." Mimi says for the hundredth time, "The idiot mentioned April so he pushed her. She started bleeding and I had to help. But when I looked up, he was gone."

I nod and rub her back. I've heard the story and I'm worried too. But this is Roger. The man is infamous for disappearing to sleep on the streets and dwell on his thoughts. He always comes back eventually.

Though I can understand why Mimi's so shaken up. She watched him injure a teenager. I've not seen him lose control for a long time - I didn't see him beat up Alex - but I remember it being scary. Of course it is. Someone you love suddenly goes wild and starts hurting people.

She just keeps clutching onto me, telling me what happened over and over. I tell her that he'll be back, that she did the right thing, that it'll be okay. But in all honesty, how much of that do I believe?

How do I know he'll come back? Maybe this will be the last time Roger stays out. Maybe this time he'll decide to disappear forever. And if he goes, then I guess it's time to detach. No point feeling pain when you can be numb, hey.

Will it be okay? I think I've forgotten what okay means. It's been so long since everything was that simple, since we could use just that one word to describe our lives. Now it's more of a paragraph, full of complaints and confused emotions and strained relationships.

Roger pushed a teenage girl and ran off. Is it okay? I don't know what okay is anymore.

...

Alex wants us to record the next scene as planned. He seems far too happy when he tells us this.

"What about Roger?" I ask.

"What about him?" Alex says, "We don't need him for this scene."

The worst part is that Maureen and Joanne are here. They're both in the loft, but staying on opposite ends. And in a few minutes, they've got to act like a couple, like nothing's happened, like Joanne didn't spend almost an hour sobbing in my arms.

This is the first time I don't want to watch a scene recorded. But I can't walk away from Alex. I'm the one who signed the contract. I'm his little lapdog.

We're all in here, filming a TV show while Roger is out on the streets. I was expecting him back this morning and I'm starting to worry. But Alex doesn't seem bothered. If anything, he seems in a much better mood today.

Mimi hasn't left my side since she burst in last night. She's been practically attached to my hip, even sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor in my bedroom. I really feel for her, so I take her hand in mine now.

She smiles at me gratefully.

Last night, after falling asleep on the floor, she woke up at some point in the early morning. She was crying again and I sat down next to her, letting her hug me. She calmed after a few minutes, looked up at me with big eyes and whispered:

_"I had a dream Mark. I'm scared that he's done something horrible to himself."_

She fell apart in my arms again. No need to elaborate. We both knew what she meant: that it was April all over again, that he'd punished himself as she had.

But he wouldn't do that. My greatest fear is that he's got hold of some drugs out there and that it'll be just like before.

When I first met Roger, he was wandering on the street. He looked so tired and had this guitar slung across his back. He was dirty and all his clothes were in tatters except for the thick leather jacket.

I remember noticing him. Seeing him walk. Thinking for a second, "he's kind of hot."

And then he sat down on the corner of one street, pulled the guitar out and started to play. I was surprised. This tough, homeless guy with piercings and a full-on rockstar look suddenly started to strum out chords of an Italian opera. And I wanted to laugh because that was never a sentence I thought I'd say.

So, I went over to the guy and told him that he played well. And this weird sadness flashed through his eyes at my words, but he thanked me and he smiled the most beautiful smile.

I sat down beside him and listened to the guitar and his voice. When he finished and started to pack up, I asked if he had anywhere to stay. No, he was living on the streets. So, I offered if he'd like to come stay with me and my three roommates. They won't get in your way, I told him. He looked guilty, said he shouldn't. But I insisted.

He lived in the loft ever since.

So, Alex shutting him out like this, entirely pushing away his entire existence, isn't right. Not in this building. This is Roger's home and he should be here.

If only to stop Mimi crying and me worrying, he should be here. If only to make our world that little bit calmer, to lessen the wrath of the storm slightly.

He should be here.

"You ready ladies?" Alex asks.

Neither Maureen or Joanne nod. They just stare silently at the walls. Can't he see what he's done? Can't he see anything?

If Roger was here, I'd tell him he was right. It's exactly as he foresaw, as Angel told me he said to her; Alex is wrecking things so we are all struggling behind the scenes, while we have to keep on acting for the cameras. And each time we act, another support pillar gives way in the colosseum of our lives.

Maureen and Joanne make their way outside to start filming. I don't follow. I'm fed up with seeing what this show is doing to us.

I don't want to see anything until Roger comes back and Alex leaves.

...

Roger comes back at 10 o'clock, long after night has fallen. His eyes are red and his face is dead. He walks straight past me and into the bedroom.

I need to help. But I don't know how to talk to him. How do I ask why he pushed some teenage girl? I'd love to tell myself he had a reason, just like I did with what happened to Alex. But I'm starting to doubt myself.

Am I still trying to search for the good in a person who went bad long ago?

Am I trying to cling onto the past?

It's so hard for me to have faith, no matter how much I love him.

Maybe it's time to accept that he's gone back to how he used to be. And that this time, I can't save him from himself.

...

"Do something." There's a terrifying desperation to Angel's voice.

"He hurt a teenage girl who apparently did nothing wrong." I say flatly, "I don't think there's anything I can do."

Angel stares at me and her voice comes out a broken whisper.

"Who are you?" She asks, "What have you done to Mark?"

"What do you-"

She stands up and shouts at me.

"The Mark I know would never give up on someone he loves!" She says, "The Mark I know would search for the truth, and he would believe in his friends! He would understand that Roger wouldn't hurt someone without being pushed to, because Mark knows Roger!"

She falls down onto the bed, staring at the floor and blinking back tears. I want to reach out, to hug her, to do something. Because Angel shouldn't be upset because of me, she should be the one cheering us up - not begging us not to give in.

All because of that contract and the money. Then Roger never would've been faced with these people and he never would've snapped and we wouldn't be having this conversation.

"You know him." Angel says, gripping onto my shoulder, "Or at least you used to."

"How can I know him?" I say quietly, "When he won't let me?"

And fire burns in her eyes. I can see that she wants to shake me, to slap me, to do anything that'll make me listen, make me understand.

"Make him!" She shouts.

And then she's crying, her head in her hands. I can hear the soft sobs and it breaks my heart. I get over myself and slide an arm around her, pulling her into my side.

"I don't have long." She says gently, "I can't tell you what's going to happen, but I can tell you that I'm running out of time."

She can tell that I want to ask so she stops me.

"I'm sorry Mark. It's better if you don't know. Sometimes we have to let things happen."

Angel shifts away from me, looking up at me again. Her eyes are so fragile, as if she's on the verge of breaking entirely.

"Help him. Force him to let you in. Break down his walls if you must. But promise me that you'll be there for him." She says, tears falling still.

"I promise." I whisper.

"Good." And even though she's crying, she lets out a small laugh, "It's about time the filmmaker learnt how to see."

...

Joanne said it perfectly the other day: "What have we done?"

We've sold our lives for entertainment, we've put our relationships in Alex's hands. We've made a terrible sacrifice and it's not worth it.

Roger is out of control. Angel is terrified of some future she won't tell me about. Collins has been in hiding for weeks. Joanne doesn't know what's real anymore. Maureen's afraid that their relationship is gone forever. Mimi's a mess because she saw her friend hurt someone.

I'm the one to blame. I showed them the contract. I talked them into it. I got Alex into our home. I told them it'd be good, it'd all work out, it'd be educational for the public.

We've finally got attention. We've been noticed. People are seeing our lives. And it's helping in some ways. But it's helping them, not us.

It's killing us.

Alex has done all this, be it intentional or not.

But I'm beginning to think it may be on purpose.

People want to hire us for new shows, people want interviews, people want to talk to the stars. People admire our talent, people want to help make our lives easier. People say all this but at the end of the day, who really cares and what can they really do?

The only thing that would save us now is to go back in time and make sure we never joined the show.

Because then everything would be okay. We'd be dysfunctional, but getting by. Just how we used to. We all have our flaws, but we understood them.

Now nothing makes sense and now I am guilty because it's all me. I've done this. I've got us in this position. We are natural actors. We are fine in the eyes of the general public, but behind the scenes we are dying.

What have I done?


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angstttt

Roger's P.O.V

"Do you want to tell me what happened the other day?" Angel asks gently, her hand resting on my forearm.

"No."

What more can I say? There's nothing else to know. A girl came up to me and Mimi on the street, started to ask me insensitive questions about April. So I knocked her to the floor and ran. Spent the rest of the day walking around town, wondering what it'd be like if I didn't go home.

"Are you sure?" She asks, "Can't you explain a reason why you did it?"

And this is unusual. Angel never presses for information, never tries to get me to talk once it's made clear I don't want to.

I look in her eyes and see this pain, this fear, as if she knows something she shouldn't. I can see her begging me to tell her something and this is unheard of. And it scares me.

Angel is the one who doesn't care about knowing everything immediately. She lets me go as slow as I want.

But in her eyes it looks like she's doing this as a last act, wanting to help as much as possible before...

Could she perhaps know what Alex is going to do?

I look down, "Mimi already told Mark; the girl was asking about April. I guess I got upset."

"That makes sense." Angel says, "But did it really mean you had to hurt her?"

I shrug, "I didn't see any other option."

We're silent for a moment and I can tell she's thinking of what to ask next. So am I. I want to ask what she knows about Alex. Because those thoughtful eyes definitely know more than they're letting on.

"I'm scared." I say quietly, "I hate doing it."

And she hugs me and everything feels normal again.

"It's okay to be scared." She whispers, "It'll help you get out of this routine."

"But I can't." I say, "I can't and I'm scared of myself."

I'm scared of becoming my father again.

She's crying but I barely notice. I've seen so much crying recently that it's nothing alarming anymore. Even when the tears are Angel's.

"It'll be okay." She says, more to herself than to me, "We'll work this out."

Here are the facts: I made a girl bleed because she asked invasive questions about April. Everyone knows this, but still think I hit her without reason. Because they're just questions, nothing to react so badly to.

They're just questions. Questions that random girls shouldn't know the answers to.

That's why I pushed her.

...

Collins comes over an hour later, bursting into the bedroom with a big smile and a bottle of whisky.

"Let me guess. Angel put you up to this." I say.

He frowns, dragging a chair across the room. I wince as its legs make horrible screeching noises, slamming down with a bang when he sits on it. He rests his chin on his palm and he sets the bottle down on the floor.

"No." He says, "That girl has no power over me. I'm here because I want to be."

Sure. Angel has a whole lot of power over him. If she said I needed company, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from coming over here. But still, even if this is a deal with his girlfriend, I'm glad to not be alone.

He picks up the bottle.

"Wanna get drunk?" Collins asks.

I shake my head. Hell no. If I'm drunk, I'll either get sad or angry. I'll either start looking back on memories or I'll hurt someone else. I'd love to forget everything, but alcohol won't give me that luxury.

He keeps looking at me, trying to read me. Good luck. If I was a book, I'd be written in a different language just so that no one can understand what's inside. I have far too many defenses set up for his eyes to get through.

"Answer me this boy." He says, "What will it take to make you happy again?"

I pause. Who knows? Being able to love Mark without the fear of losing him? Getting to kiss that boy one more time? Alex to get out of my life and cancel the show? Everyone to stop asking me what's wrong? No more sympathy?

Can I even be happy anymore?

What would make me happy would be knowing that all my friends will be okay, that everything can be repaired here, that I'll be able to control my own actions from now on, that I'll never do anything like I did to Alex again.

"I don't know." I say quietly and I see Collins break.

...

Mimi needs to stop looking at me like I'm going to kill her. I thought that she'd understand. She heard what the girl said.

But maybe she was swayed. She saw the blood too, saw the look on my face. She saw me turn into something that I've tried so hard to get rid of.

I think that Mimi's lost hope in me. She's seen me now, seen the ugly part of me, and she's scared. She's decided there's nothing she can do.

"I'm sorry." I tell her for the tenth time.

She just keeps looking at me, her eyes a swirling tornado of fear and pain and defeat. She's seen what she's up against, she's realised that she can't fix me. She stares at me like I'm a stranger in the body of someone she knows.

One by one I'm going to lose them all. They'll all drop me when they see the truth. That's why I try so badly to hide it. But some things have a way of getting out and causing a scene while they do so.

"I don't know what to do." She whispers, "If you won't tell me things, how do you expect me to understand?"

I don't. Because no one can know. No one can know where I came from, the life I escaped. No one can know about the people I left behind; the good and the bad. No one can know anything about me or they'll just be hurt too.

I'm not sorry for keeping secrets. Because I know that it's saving the people I care about.

I walk away from her, aware that she's crying again, and into the bedroom where I start to play my guitar. When I touch it, I can almost feel him here with me, telling me that anything I play for him is perfect, making me fall in love with him and then making me hate myself for dooming him.

What wouldn't I give to go back to those days? When everything was peaceful and quiet and blissfully normal. I could even put up with my father if it meant I could get away from this wreck that I'm calling life.

I love Mimi but I hate hurting her. I love Mark but I hate myself for it. I love Angel but I hate losing her. I love everyone here but I hate what I'm doing to them.

Because when you think about it, I'm the source of the problem. They all have to put their lives on hold to help me because oh no, Roger's struggling again, he's pushing us all away, he's trapped in his own head.

I'm tired of being the nuisance, the one who needs the support. The little child who needs his friends there to make sure he doesn't do anything reckless. They're like my parents, having to constantly drop everything to check on me.

Why me? Why do I have to be the broken one? Why can't I just be okay?

As Collins said, what will it take to make me happy again? How many more days will they have to sacrifice for me? How many more people will I hurt? How many times can my friends cope with having to clean up after me before they decide it's not worth the effort?

There are two options; I let them know everything, or I push them away for good to make sure they don't have to keep crying because of me.

If they know nothing, they don't have to worry. If I stop talking, they have nothing to use against me. It's time to withdraw, fully this time.

It's an easy choice.

Because I will always put them in front of me.

...

"Let me see."

Mark pales, "Roger, I don't think you want to."

"Just let me see!" I shout.

He reluctantly hands me the phone. I don't know or care who it belongs to, just that Mark has been looking disgusted by it for a few minutes.

The screen shows an article.

_"Young RENT Star Viciously Attacks Innocent Fan. Is This Man Dangerous?"_

I drop the phone, letting it crack.

Viciously? I pushed her. She didn't even have to go to hospital.

Innocent? She overstepped. She asked me things that she had no right to know.

Dangerous? Maybe. I'm starting to think that maybe I am. Maybe I should be locked away.

"Ignore it." Mark says, "It'll blow over in a few days."

That doesn't matter. What matters is that the world is now against me.

I can see he wants to say something. I know what it is.

"Just ask." I spit, "Ask me why I did it? Why the dangerous man attacked the innocent fan."

Mark's eyes widen, "I wasn't going to-"

"Just leave it!" I say, "Stay away from me before I attack you too!"

His face softens, "I know you wouldn't do that."

"Oh really?" I say, "Because you know me _so well_."

It's my fault. Mark doesn't know me because I don't want him to.

"You think I'm out of control." I say quietly, "Don't pretend. You think I've lost it."

He reaches out to touch me but I move away.

"The real question." I say, "Is did I ever have it in the first place?"

...

Mark can't know. I've already let him see too much. But he has to be shut out entirely.

Up go the shields. Full defense.

Goodbye Mark. This is for your own good. I love you too much. I love you more than anything else but I can't let you go through this because of me.

Angel can give up trying to help because I'm never telling her anything again. She can tell everyone to give up and leave me alone.

Mimi can take her sympathy away. Even if I had fun the other day with her at the park, I can't keep doing this. I can't make her see something like that again.

We've had good times, but they're over now. I wish there could be another way, but this is how things need to be. This is the only way I can save them.

What about the show?

If they let me still be a part of it after what I did to our fan.

I guess I just have to keep acting. It's what I've done my whole life, after all.

...

I get drunk. Horribly drunk. And drunk means sad.

My body and my brain hate me. _He_ would hate me if he could see me now. But he can't because he's dead.

I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Why does everything have to be like this? Why is life so awful?

Why do I have to be the bad guy who pushes his friends away to help them? Why do I have to be the one to make the painful choice? Why do I have to be the one who does what's necessary and gets hated in the process?

Why did the universe pick me to be the one who breaks their hearts?

...

_He holds me as I shake, letting me cry into his chest. His hand strokes my hair gently, his other one holding me tightly against him. He's annoyed at me, but that doesn't mean he's going to abandon me._

_"You need to stop doing this." He says softly, "Look at what you're doing to yourself."_

_I just hide my face even deeper in his clothes, trying to block out the rest of the world._

_"I'm sorry." I sob, "I don't want to do it. I just can't stop."_

_He sighs. I know it upsets him, it upsets me too. Don't think that I enjoy hitting people unconscious. But when they start saying things, I have to do something. I can't just let them stand there all smug, thinking they have this power over me._

_I suppose that they still do have power over me. They know that if they taunt me enough, I'll fight back. They know this, so they use it against me. Play this little game seeing how much they can get away with saying before they're lying on the floor._

_They have me on a string, pulling at it so I do whatever they want._

_"You need to try." He says._

_I do try. But I'm just like my father. He always told me that we were the same and I denied it, but maybe it's true._

_"Hey." He says, "Look at me."_

_I do. He brushes away some of my tears._

_"I'm not going to leave you." He tells me, "I'm going to help you get through this and I'm going to stay right here no matter how messy things get. You hear me?"_

_I nod. He pulls me back into his arms and we sit and watch the old willow tree wave._

_"You can do this." He tells me. And I'm glad that one of us thinks so._

_"What happens if I do it again?" I ask._

_"Then we start over." He says, "We begin from scratch and pretend it never happened, keep trying to stop it from happening."_

_And right now I'm so grateful to have him here. It may be me against the world, but at least I have one ally on my side. At least one person believes in me._

_"Your dad won't win." He says and I believe him._

_I believe everything he says. He told me that he'd always be there, that he wouldn't leave. But that's exactly what he did. He died because of me. Spent all this time trying to glue together my cracks, unable to see that he couldn't do anything._

_He was wrong. I couldn't be saved. He refused to accept that and lost his life trying. He saw too much light in me. If only he hadn't tried so hard to help, if only I'd kept my feelings to myself. If only, if only._

_"Thank you." I say, "For everything."_

_"Anything for you." He says._

_And when I was with him, it felt like maybe I could change. Maybe I could learn how to control myself, how to be open. Maybe I could beat my father and show the kids at school that I wasn't as weak as they thought._

_The tree creaks as it watches us. That tree saw our whole lives unfold. I wonder if trees have memories. Does that one remember everything it saw, every time we sat under it?_

_And he kisses me on my cheek. And I think that this is the moment I really fell in love with him, the moment he signed himself up for a certain death._

_I wonder if the tree knew that. I wonder if it knew what was coming._


	11. 11

Mark's P.O.V

The whole world is holding its breath.

Roger slept in his own bedroom last night. And that said it all. He hasn't been in there for months, but last night I walked into my room and found my bed empty. He's locked me out completely now.

How can I make him let me in? How can I help in? The only way I can do that is when he's ready for me to. He has to decide for himself to open up to me. Only he can make the choice to stop keeping me on the outside.

It's up to him and I have to wait around lamely until he's strong enough to talk.

So, for now I let him sleep in his own room and I let him keep his distance from me. Eventually, he'll be ready. I'm terrible at sitting around uselessly like this, but I know it's what I need to do. No matter how much it hurts.

My job is to be here when the time comes, no matter how long it takes. I really am turning into Angel.

The world stops breathing when Roger walks out of his bedroom. He doesn't look at me, doesn't even spare a glimpse in my direction. Mimi breathes heavily next to me, squeezing my hand tightly.

He looks like he hardly slept, looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Dark bags sit under those dim green eyes and his face is decorated with tired lines. He walks like he's already dead, like he's a ghost crossing through the land of the living.

He walks like he doesn't see any of us. Like he's in hell and is the only one there, like we're not even here. Is he really that determined to block us out? He doesn't even seem alive.

Mimi looks away, chokes back a sob, almost crushing the bones in my fingers. This is the most horrible thing. The man we love has disappeared. And the worst bit:

I just want to know what's going on in his head, what he's keeping in.

Alex is smiling widely, bossing around his camera crew. They try to tidy up Mimi's hair, even while she cries next to me. Some try to get Roger to sit down, try to put makeup on him, try to make him look alive.

I don't want to see the recording, but I don't want to take my eyes off the shadow of Roger.

I don't want RENT to continue. I want the loft back to how it used to be, so that I can sit with him and comfort him without all these people around us. I want the world to forget who we are so there are to be no more encounters with fans on the street.

I want privacy back. I don't care about the money or the people we're apparently inspiring anymore. I just care about what this show is doing to us. About what it's already done and what it's going to do.

We go outside, Alex's crew wheeling their cameras down the street, stopping outside the Life Cafe. He's still in his chair, but he's getting out of it in a few days.

Mimi still walks beside me, her eyes wide and full of tears. Roger walks ahead of us, his posture slumped and his arms hanging limply at his sides. I don't know how they expect him to perform today in this state.

Unless he's willing to act. Unless he's only hiding his truth and will happily keep on faking.

Alex seems to beam at us from his wheelchair and that sends shivers through me. He's got this big machine set up that makes fake snow fall down on the alley.

"Okay, start."

Roger and Mimi walk into the alley together, the snow landing in their hair. Neither of them are looking up but I don't know if that's the script or if they're just not ready to meet the other's eyes yet.

"I should tell you." Mimi says, her voice cracking, "I blew the candle out just to get back in."

Roger keeps looking at the floor, laughs slightly, "Knew it."

And suddenly they're acting. I don't know how they do it. For the cameras, they're able to become this adorable couple with the best dynamic in the history of heterosexual relationships. But otherwise, they're hardly able to look at each other without being hurt too much.

He takes her hand and is it just me who sees the reluctance in Mimi's face? Their eyes meet and I wonder what messages are flying between the two of them. Are they silently agreeing to play along with Alex's game? Deciding that they have to put personal problems aside for the show? That as soon as they're off-set, they can go back to ignoring each other again.

How do they do it? I'm sure that this must be killing Mimi. I've seen how battered she's been by everything recently. I'm sure having to act fine is destroying her. Acting is deadly - Maureen and Joanne proved that.

"I'd forgotten how to smile until your candle burned my skin." Roger says quietly, his face still as his eyes flick over Mimi's.

She smiles somewhat sadly.

"It's too dangerous." She says, dropping his hand, "We're both ill. We'll be rushed, building it all on borrowed time."

He reaches out, brushes her cheek with one finger, smiles faintly.

"Why should we let that stop us?" He whispers.

Mimi looks into his eyes again and it's so clear to me how much this is hurting her. I can see her fighting to keep the emotion in, to keep herself from bursting into tears. Because here's Roger, acting like the person he used to be. But only for RENT. We've lost him, but the rest of the world still gets him.

He's slipped away in life, but in this show nothing has changed. He's still the same man we all love, who we wish would come back to us for real. Why can't he be like this behind the scenes too?

"Here goes." Mimi sighs. She pushes a curl behind her ear, bites her lip, swallows hard.

And her hands cup Roger's face as she pulls him into a kiss. I don't know how they do it without faltering. How two friends who barely talk anymore are suddenly able to share such a beautiful kiss for the sake of TV.

They pull apart and Mimi's crying. Mimi's sobbing. Her chest is heaving and her makeup is running and I want to cry out for Alex to stop filming. But he seems to be eating up this drama. Because of course, this is just what it looks like through my eyes. To anyone else, this is a woman overcome with emotion because she's finally got to kiss the man who continuously rejected her advances.

To me, this is a woman coming apart at the seams because she's able to kiss her friend for a TV show, but can't get him to tell him anything in real life.

"I should tell you." She says through tears, "I love you."

And to me, that is one last desperate cry for Roger to come back to us. One that he ignores by pulling her into another kiss. And while they kiss again, I can see the tears keep on rolling down her face.

Alex has never complimented anyone this much after a scene.

...

RENT is now the most watched TV series in America. It's trending on Netflix and the DVD copies are even selling out. It has its own merchandise now. People keep calling, asking for interviews with the cast. I turn them down. It's more likely that they want a follow up on the "star attacks fan" story.

You'd think that fame would bring good things. I can't go out anymore without people recognising me. Alex even has the usher away crowds who are starting to gather at our filming spots.

They say that our show has inspired a whole lot of people. That the world is seeing how hard it is being poor in New York. There are so many reports of people who say that RENT taught them that love is the strongest force out there.

If love was that strong, we wouldn't be living like this.

We have money now. I actually have a full wallet. It's a strange sensation. I can afford food and we can pay for our electricity and heat. No more freezing to death.

But I almost miss the days of shivering under a pile of blankets. Because we were cold, yeah, but we were also a family. Our love was strong then.

We're stars, Alex tells us. We're going to get so many job offers after we finish with this show. We'll never have to be hungry again.

We have achieved. People around the world are helping out the homeless, respecting artists and understanding how hard it is to get your art noticed. All in the name of our show. They say we've shone a new light on poverty. They say we've changed the way people look at things.

And that was my goal right from the start. But now that we've done it, I don't feel so great. I feel dirty, even if I've had more warm showers over the last month than I have since I moved here.

Because what was the cost? Losing Roger to whatever secrets he carries around with him? Maureen and Joanne breaking up? Mimi unable to leave my side without the sadness becoming too powerful? Collins and Angel having to stay out of the way?

And me - the witness. The one who sees it all. When did I last do something fun, something that wasn't for the show?

It must've been when me and Roger went to that swap meet I filmed. When we talked like we were kids. That was before he started totally blanking me.

I wonder what I did to make him hide. Was it something I said? Or is it just one of the many scars he won't reveal? Just another little cut that he masks with this dreadful absence?

He's in his own room again. Mimi's still on the floor in mine. The camera crew are still just on the other side of the door.

And I'm still asking myself:

Why? Why? Why?


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w homophobic slur

Roger's P.O.V

_"What is wrong with you?" My father yells, his face in mine, "Why can't you just be normal?"_

_Normally I would hate crying in front of him, but today I don't even care. I let my body shake and the tears fall. He's already disgusted in me, what harm can a bit of crying do?_

_"Pull yourself together!" He slaps my face, leaving a sharp stinging, "Stop being a little girl!"_

_I rub my cheek, feeling the warmth of where his hand connected. And I'm so angry at him right now. I have every right to cry. My boyfriend - if I can really call him that - was found dead weeks ago all because of me. Not that my father knows that, but still. I should be allowed to feel upset._

_I should be allowed to have emotions._

_This man here, towering above me, is the person who taught me that people don't want to know your feelings. He invalidated me my whole life. He's the reason I'm afraid to be open._

_Of course, it's my fault too. If I wasn't so weak, he never would've treated me like this. If I was stronger I would've been able to ignore him._

_"I'm sorry." I say, trying to wipe away my tears._

_"Don't apologise!" He shouts, "God, where did I go wrong?"_

_Maybe at the point where you scared away the mother I never got to meet. Maybe at the point where you forced me to train my mind to fight anyone who said the wrong thing. Maybe when you pushed me again and again to be just like you._

_"Look at you!" He says, "You're an embarrassment! You play that girl's instrument and you hang out with that faggot! You're no son of mine!"_

_That "faggot" is dead because of me. My father bringing him up is killing me. I can see his face in my head again, the blood dripping from his body, the wound that I caused. Dead under the tree._

_Dead because I kissed him. And it felt so right and so good and I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. But now he's gone and he's left behind a huge hole in my heart. How am I expected to go to school when the one person who liked me is missing? How can I carry on living here when I'm haunted everyday by the memory of him?_

_"All I wanted was a child who would make me proud." He says, lowering his voice, "A child who would be a winner, just like me. Instead I'm given you. I get a fucking musician who can barely hold his own against kids half his size."_

_And everything's flashing and my throat is sore and I can hardly breathe. Because he sounds so calm and that's not something I'm used to. This is a man who can't control his temper, who fights everyone over nothing. He doesn't do quiet._

_My father drops to his knees. He rests his head in his hands and just sits there for a moment._

_"Please." He whispers, his voice choked, "Just leave."_

...

I can't do this. I can't push them away.

I can see it, I can see how it hurts them. When I was acting with Mimi yesterday, I had a revelation.

She is in pain. Me closing off is just hurting them more than if they knew everything. I made the wrong choice.

Sure, it's easy to just keep acting. Acting's easy. It's easy to stay away from them and only return for the cameras. But yesterday I saw what I'd done. I saw the way Mark watched me with sad eyes and the way Mimi was barely able to pretend.

It stabbed my heart to see that in trying to save them, I've just made things worse. And I started to ask myself:

Did I do the right thing after all?

...

Memories of my father and of _him_ keep coming back. I hate remembering. I hate keeping it to myself.

Sometimes I think, would Mark really like to know? He says he wants to help. Would he be able to make me feel better about these things? Would he like to see this part of me? Would he be able to convince me that the words "I love you" were not what killed that boy?

Sometimes I'm that close to telling Mark. Maybe he'd still love me, as I'm so sure he does. Maybe it'd be okay. Maybe everything would seem better than before, if there was someone to share these fears with.

Or maybe not. Maybe I'm just trying to give myself enough reason. Maybe I'm right not to tell anyone.

I need to decide.

...

I find Mimi. Grab her shoulder and lead her into the bedroom. She opens her mouth in shock, but I don't talk. Not out here in front of the crew.

As soon as I shut the door, she flings her arms around me and starts to cry. I rub her back awkwardly, waiting until she's composed enough for me to speak.

This proves to me how much it affected her. It shows me how wrong I was to shut her out. I may have "viciously attacked an innocent fan" in front of her, but she still cares about me. I was stupid to think otherwise.

She stops hugging me and pulls away with furious eyes. Her hand makes contact with my face and it feels like pins pricking my skin. I deserved that.

She takes a deep breath, expels the anger from her eyes, and looks at me expectantly.

"Go on." She says coldly, "There better be a good apology."

I look down. Her icy eyes are not making this any easier. It seems that her heart has completely frozen over while I've been emotionally absent. And that makes me guilty all over again.

"I can't apologise." I say quietly and she stares at me in disbelieving rage, "But!" I add, trying to extinguish the fire that's returning to her eyes.

"But?" She asks, wrapping her arms around her body, a sign of anxiousness I remember from when I first met her.

"But I'd like to tell you some things." I say quietly.

Her eyes fill with tears again, but this time happy tears. She hugs me again, her hair falling all in my face. I can feel her heart beating against me. I can feel her _life_. And I really don't want to tell anyone these things, but I don't want to hide them anymore either.

It's going to be hard. I don't know if my voice will even work enough for me to say anything. Mimi seems to know this because she rests her hand on top of mine and smiles.

"I..." I start, feeling my throat closing in on itself, "I love Mark."

"I know." She says casually.

"You know?"

"I figured." She says, "Oh, and he loves you too."

Now it's my turn to say it, "I know."

"You do? Then why aren't you two fucking yet?" She laughs, then remembers how serious this moment is and shuts up.

"I've been pretending that I don't know how he feels." I say.

"Why?"

Because the last person I loved ended up dead at the bottom of a tree, ended up being the reason I ran away from my old life. And I don't want to tell anyone else I love them in case the same happens again. Because I'm scared of being selfish.

I want so badly to love Mark, to have him love me. God, I want it more than anything else. But I know I can't have it. I can't let myself have it because it'll only end badly. I'll get to have the best day of my life with him, but it will have been a cruel choice because he'll be gone the next morning.

I let a few tears make their way from my eyes. Mimi melts. Her heart thaws.

"You don't have to tell me." She says, hugging me again.

I shake my head again. I can't keep living with these things. I need to tell her before they eat me alive. I know that she wants to hear it too. I'm sure she can't believe that this is really happening. Neither can I, if I'm being honest.

"I need to." I say and her heavy eyes stare at me.

She nods, keeps touching my hand. And that gives me the comfort to open my mouth. I shut my eyes, it's easier if I don't look at her. I can feel my heart thumping against my rib cage and it seems like it's going to crack the bones and burst out.

But I need to do this. I've carried him in me for years alone. I think that maybe, it's time to finally tell someone else about him. Maybe it's time to share the good times we had with someone else, so I can remember the positives.

"Okay." She says softly.

I'm doing this for him. I know he'd be proud. He'd want me to make sure other people remember him for the great person he was. He'd probably hate me for keeping his entire existence a secret for this long. But then again, maybe he'd understand. He was the kindest person in the world; he'd never hold it against me.

I owe him this. Mimi should know about him. In another life, I'm sure they would've been friends.

"When I was twelve I met this boy." I say quietly, "I can't say his name, but I can say that he was the best person I knew. I _loved_ him."

And it feels wrong saying those words even now. My love declaration was what killed him. Saying it again almost feels like I'm mocking his death. I feel like I'm killing him all over again.

" _He_ loved me and he helped me. He loved me no matter what I did. And every time I hurt someone, he'd be there and he'd tell me I needed to stop. But he stayed by me because he loved me." I wipe my eyes.

She looks at me, signalling with her eyes that I can keep going. It's barely even registering in my brain that I'm saying this; it's been so long since I've been this truthful.

"I used to do it a lot - what I did to Alex and to Emma." I keep looking at the floor, "People would say shit that got me pissed off and I hit them. He was the only one who didn't use it against me. He tried to help."

Tears start coming faster and Mimi suddenly leans over to brush them away - just like he used to. I see that she's crying too but she seems to ignore that and focus entirely on me. I love her for that right now.

This is why I'm talking to her before Mark. Because Mark will get so upset if he sees me like this and he won't know how to handle it. It's easier to practise the whole speech with Mimi. Her reaction can help prepare me for doing this with Mark.

I move away from her, holding her hand again, telling her with my eyes that it's okay - she doesn't need to worry, just let me get to the end of this. She smiles sadly, fidgeting in her seat.

"And then...then I told him I loved him. I kissed him." I say, "I loved him so much and it took me so long to tell him, because of how I knew my father would react. But then I told him and everything seemed good."

And this is the painful bit. This is the bit I don't want to say. This is the bit that's going to destroy me to relive. Because the end of his story is a tragic one all because of me. Because this memory has never been spoken aloud before and it shouldn't be.

But it needs to.

Times change. People grow up. At some point we have to conquer our fears. We have to look back on the terrible things that have happened and be able to not hate ourselves for it anymore.

Eventually, we're able to remember people that we've lost, and not cry. We're able to remember the good parts of them, not just the painful ones. Maybe this conversation can help me reach that point.

"And he died." I say, noticing the quiet gasp Mimi tries to disguise, "He died that night. He was found the next morning, bleeding out under our tree. He died because I told him I loved him! The world took him from me because of my words! And I never stopped thinking; well what if I never told him, what if he could have survived? But he's dead and he isn't coming back."

I'm crying and I don't care. I look into my lap, seeing the tears fall.

"That's why I can't love Mark." I whisper, "Because I can't lose him too."

And Mimi hugs me tighter than ever before, holding me so fiercely I feel she'll never let go. I wouldn't mind that. I could stay here, like this forever.

Because as much as it hurts, and it fucking does, opening up feels refreshing. It feels overdue and I want to ask why I didn't do this years ago. Why did I wait until it was almost too late?

"I'm so sorry." She breathes in my ear, "I had no idea."

I just keep hugging. And somehow, I feel okay. I'm upset, yeah. I'm sobbing. But I know that he would be pleased with me now. He'd be glad that I'm letting myself get over him.

"I'm so fucking proud of you." She says, squeezing my body harder, "I'm so proud that you're finally telling me this stuff."

Me too. It almost feels good. It feels like it should've been done long ago. And I feel closer to Mimi now than I did before.

"I'm sorry for not talking before." I say.

"It's fine. It's understandable." She says, "But Roger, from now on, you tell me everything okay? I can be here for you."

I nod, hide my face in her hair. I may have lost _him_ long ago, but I'm starting to see that I have other people now. And I still have him.

"And I still think you should let Mark love you." She says, "Give it a shot and it might end differently."

"I think so too." I say. And I really do. I'm ready to stop hiding from him.


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> b a c k s t o r y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w death

3rd Person P.O.V

The boy's name was Jonathan - Johnny to his friends. He was twelve when he met Roger Davis.

Johnny had no parents, no family. He lived in foster care. Wanted a normal life. Went to the public school. Met the boy of his dreams. That was the simple summary of his story.

Never having known his family, he'd never really had anyone to care about. Never had anyone to love. So, when he found Roger, it was like his dreams had come true. Here was someone he could help, someone who had a terrible home life that he could try to make up for.

Roger gave Johnny a purpose, a reason to exist.

The two boys clicked like you wouldn't believe. They met under an old willow tree one day. Johnny was walking back to his home and he saw this boy writing in a notebook, leaning against the trunk.

"Hey."

The boy jumped, turned, smiled, "Hey."

"What are you writing?" Johnny asked.

"Lyrics." The boy had said, frowning, "They're not very good though."

And they'd sat together under the tree and Roger had let Johnny hear his lyrics. The first of many days like this.

"You know they want to chop this tree down?" Johnny said.

The other boy nodded, "They're just afraid of nature's beauty." He'd said, smiling.

"You go to this school?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Johnny had known he was gay for a long time but had never really believed he would find the one. He'd never really imagined himself living past twenty. Dying young seemed to be a theme in his family. He didn't exactly have people to mourn his passing anyway.

The boys grew up together. They knew everything about each other. There was nothing they didn't share.

Until things slowly started to change. Johnny felt it happening - this great shift in their relationship. He suddenly became conscious of how he looked, found himself overanalysing all of Roger's actions, sometimes couldn't find the words.

Things were changing. Johnny was thirteen when he fell in love with Roger.

For the life of him, Johnny couldn't tell what exactly had changed. He couldn't explain the way he would flush when hugging his friend, the way he would start fantasising, or the way he would suddenly find himself thinking unspeakable thoughts about Roger.

Hugs became awkward, they became the two boys not wanting to get to close in fear of what it would look like to outsiders.

"Do you feel it too?" Johnny had asked him one day. And Roger had nodded and carried on writing in his notebook.

"What's changed?" Roger asked, his face warming as he met his friend's eyes.

And Johnny had taken his moment. There was no other time he'd get to do this. And he was so sure the other boy felt the same that he didn't even consider it ending badly.

He pressed his lips to Roger's and kissed him. Messily. Neither of the boys had kissed anyone before. But to Johnny, that just made this moment more important. Best friends sharing a first kiss.

Until Roger had pulled away and looked at him with teary eyes, whispering, "I can't do this."

And Johnny was angry. He was annoyed. But he loved his friend more.

Sometimes he wished he could go back and start his life again, but this time make sure Roger's dad wasn't there. Because that man was what stood between them. And Johnny tried to understand Roger's thought process - his fear - but he never could quite make sense of why his friend gave his dad so much power over his decisions.

Johnny wanted to say who cared what other people thought, they couldn't stop them. He wanted to tell his friend that his dad didn't matter, that he'd be there for him instead, that they could run away together and start anew.

But Roger's mind didn't work like that.

In Roger's mind, his dad was this great dangerous force. Granted, Johnny had never met Roger's dad, but he was sure he couldn't be that bad.

Johnny hated how much time Roger spent worrying about his dad. He told him so many times that his dad wouldn't be able to do anything, he couldn't hurt them, he had to stop giving his dad so much terrified respect. If he lived his life in fear, he'd never do anything.

And every time Roger just said, "You don't know what he's like."

Which was true, but Johnny didn't care what kind of alpha male guy tried to separate them - it would never work.

Well, that's what he thought. But it wasn't Roger's dad who ended things between them. That was a completely different man.

All Johnny wanted was for Roger to live. Because worrying about his dad all the time, that was killing him. The two boys loved each other, but one of them was too afraid to admit it. And Johnny resented Roger's dad for that.

Things had changed and they both knew it but after that kiss, neither of them spoke about it for a while. They continued meeting under the tree where they'd first found each other and they carried on being friends.

Roger would say he only got to kiss Johnny once. That first one hadn't really been a kiss and it had been over before either of them knew what was going on. That one had been a bitter rejection for Johnny, but he knew he'd get his chance to make up for that soon.

Life tried its hardest to bring the two boys apart. But they seemed to fight it. Johnny was naturally a mother, he wanted to look after everyone. It took a lot to make him give up on someone.

Though he was close sometimes with Roger. Because Roger didn't even seem to believe in himself, didn't think he could do anything. When someone's given up on themselves, it's so hard to keep believing in them.

Johnny did everything he could. He hated Roger sometimes; hated him for losing control of himself so easily. He wished that the other boy could just learn to ignore the people who thrived off his anger.

Johnny was a quiet boy. He didn't talk to many people. But he put himself out there. He had his heart broken every time he'd walk down a corridor and see Roger fighting some more of the older kids. He'd ask himself why he wasn't able to stop this.

He hated Roger for it. Johnny knew he couldn't help it, but sometimes it felt like the other boy didn't even try. That he was letting himself do what his dad wanted him to. Johnny couldn't imagine what his life was like, but he just wished he could do more.

Johnny hated to feel useless. He'd been useless when his mum had died during childbirth and when his dad had crashed that car. He told himself that he couldn't be useless again, not now that there was so much to care about.

Words didn't usually help Roger. And besides, Johnny found it hard to offer supportive ones when all he wanted to do was slap the other boy and tell him to wake the hell up. So, they often settled for actions.

The boys would spend so many evenings hiding under that tree, confusing each other as they tried to work out what the boundaries were in their rapidly evolving relationship. They started to wonder what they really were - friends seemed too mild a word.

If not for Roger's fears, Johnny knew that they'd be more than friends already. But he couldn't be mad about that. He couldn't push his friend.

For his fourteenth birthday, Johnny bought Roger a guitar. A cheap acoustic, but still a guitar. Johnny had never seen Roger cry so much. They both knew that this was something his dad would never allow, but something that he had dreamed of having forever.

That was the day Roger realised he was in love with Johnny.

They sat under the tree and Johnny asked Roger to play him a song - (Everything I Do) I Do It For You by Bryan Adams. When Johnny heard those words, that quiet voice, he knew that this was no friendship and that it was time for him to say so.

"Do you think we should try doing this?" Johnny had asked. Because he was so certain that this was what he wanted, that he really did love the other boy.

Roger had looked up at him, his cheeks tinted red from singing in front of someone. His eyes had been uncertain.

"Do you?" He'd whispered.

"I think I'd like to try." Johnny replied.

Roger looked down again, fiddling with the tuning pegs of the guitar. Johnny watched, waited, got ready to be rejected again - just like that kiss that the two had tried to forget about. There was no way Roger would go against his dad, Johnny thought, he was too scared of him.

"Johnny." Roger said, not looking up.

"Yes?" He allowed himself to get hopeful; it wasn't an immediate no. That meant the other boy was considering it. Maybe Johnny had helped enough; maybe Roger was stronger now and would disobey his dad.

"I think...I love you." Roger said quietly.

And Johnny's heart sang as he pulled his best friend into a kiss. Not like that kiss when they were younger that had been so one-sided. This one was full of love and passion and both of them knew that this was the best thing that had happened to them in a long time.

This was the next step their relationship needed. This was what those uncomfortable changes had been leading to, and they both loved it. They both loved each other.

Johnny went back out to the field that night, sat under the tree. His heart was still singing, his head was still full of pictures of his friend (if he could call Roger that anymore). He wondered why it'd taken them this long, why he hadn't realised how beautiful he found Roger sooner.

Things happen for a reason, he told himself. They had to wait long enough to know that their feelings were true, that they would last forever, that they really were made for each other. Because it would've been dreadful had they started dating only to fall out of love with one another.

Johnny sat on the field alone quite a few nights. He didn't like going back to his foster home. It was full of rowdy kids and only one adult. No one missed him there. So, he closed his eyes and lay down on the grass.

He thought of Roger and of all the times he'd dried the other boy's tears. He thought of how good it felt to finally kiss him and how much he was looking forward to getting to do that again. He thought of himself, in the future, outliving any of his deceased relatives, going against the dying young family curse, building a future with Roger somewhere.

Johnny loved to escape into his own head. He filled it with the best things, the best people, the best memories. It was a film he could watch back over and over. It was a photo album filled with Roger's face. It was a reel looking back on the good.

He thought about the day they'd met two years ago, how so much had changed since then. Thought about how he hoped things would continue to change over the next two years. And then two more, and two more, and two more.

Because Johnny knew they'd be together forever. They'd get out of this place and leave Roger's dad to eat their dust. They'd go somewhere nice and they'd live happily.

At some point that night, a group of men stumbled through the field. They were drunk and could barely walk straight. Johnny didn't hear them coming at first.

Then came the angry shouts. The men were fighting amongst themselves, slurring out words that made no sense. They were a pile of alcohol-scented bodies tumbling around in a flurry of fists and teeth.

Johnny didn't move. The men couldn't see him and wouldn't care for him. He was a boy. He'd done nothing to upset them.

One of the men had a gun. He'd stolen it. Didn't know how to use it. He was angry at his friends and tried to shoot one of them. He hit.

Two people died that night.

The drunk man shot and killed his own friend and regretted it every day after. The drunk man also killed Johnny.

It took three hours for Johnny to die and they were the most painful of his life. Every breath was agonising as the blood spread across his whole body. He gave up very quickly on getting help. The only people around were the drunk men who were now sobbing, and they hadn't even realised there was a teenager dying under the tree.

He knew it was over. He let his eyes shut and tried to breathe steadily. This was one thing he couldn't do anything about.

That was the worst part for him - that he would die uselessly. The very thing he'd tried to avoid being his whole life was now him as he breathed his last breath. He couldn't even move.

The other worst part - that he would only get to kiss Roger once, that he'd only gotten one day to spend loving the other boy, that he was never going to see his face again.

Johnny died at 1 AM, thinking of Roger.

Johnny died under the sombre watch of the willow tree.

Johnny died in the spot where he'd met Roger, where he'd fallen in love with Roger, where he'd kissed Roger.

That kiss was the last thing he thought of as he slipped away into the night.

Johnny had thought that he could be the exception in his family. He'd thought that he could die old because he had someone to love, a reason to live. He thought he wouldn't have to die young like his parents. He'd thought he might get a future, but that was taken from him by a drunk man with an unlicensed firearm.

If only he'd gone home that night. If only he'd not stayed out in the field. Maybe then he'd still be alive. Maybe he'd have been able to kiss Roger again. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Life is full of maybes. But nothing can be done to change them.

Johnny's body was found the next morning by none other than Roger himself, going to wait for his friend under the tree. The screams echoed around the whole town, the pain could be felt a mile away, the tears were enough to flood the field.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Johnny was hours dead. There was nothing anyone could do.

Roger ran away to New York weeks later, lived on the streets. It wasn't the life the two of them had planned running away to together, but it was better than carrying on in a ghost town. He had the guitar and therefore he had Johnny.

Johnny's spirit lives on. Nothing can destroy the soul. Especially such a good, pure soul. His spirit is hurt by the fact that Roger can no longer bring himself to speak his name. But more than that, he's hurt by what he sees in the boy he fell in love with.

Because Roger closed off after Johnny died. He stopped sharing. And that would not have been what Johnny would've wanted for him. Johnny would've wanted him to find someone else to talk to, find someone else to love.

Johnny watches Roger drift away. And he watches Roger come back. In love with someone else now. That should sting, but it doesn't. He's allowed to. Of course he is.

He watches as Roger turns back to his old ways - fighting people who say shit about people he loves. Johnny hates seeing this, hates seeing that all his efforts to help were in vain. Wishes that someone would help Roger before he hurts himself.

When Roger plays his guitar, Johnny is there in the room. He watches and he cries because it's the same guitar he bought. It's survived all this. It survived longer than him.

It's been years since Johnny was shot. To this day, Roger has no idea what killed that boy. He doesn't know that the death was nothing to do with him, that it was an accidental tragedy.

Saying "I love you" did not kill the boy and Johnny wishes that Roger could know that. Mark would not be killed by those words, because they are completely unrelated. Roger should love Mark.

He shouldn't live in fear anymore. Because Johnny wouldn't have wanted him to. He shouldn't keep blaming himself, because it was not his fault. He shouldn't be afraid of loving Mark, because love is not dangerous like he thinks.

If only someone could remind him of that, tell him that Johnny didn't die because of him. Johnny died because he was outside when a drunk man fired a gun. A bullet that wasn't even supposed to hit him.

Johnny's story was simple:

He met Roger when he was twelve. He kissed him when he was thirteen, only to be pushed away. He fell in love somewhere along the way. He kissed Roger properly when he was fourteen and died the same night from a stray bullet. And Roger still thinks that must've been because of him, because of his love.

All of this was seen by a tree. The birth of a friendship, then of a love, and then a death and a heartbreak. All over the course of two short years.

Johnny was gone but he was still waiting for Roger to let go, to allow himself to love again.

Johnny's spirit was going to be there when Roger told Mark tomorrow.


	14. 14

Mark's P.O.V

The knock on the door startles me. The person doing the knocking startles me even more.

Roger stands awkwardly, not quite looking at me. His eyes are red and his hands are shoved into his pockets.

"Where've you been?" I ask.

He looks offended, hurt. Starts to back away. Then shuts his eyes. Takes a step into the room.

"Talking to Mimi." He says quietly, " _Actually_ talking."

I kind of wish that he could be more eloquent. Because I'm not sure if he means what I think he does. It sounds to me like...

Like he's been telling her about some of the things he's been keeping to himself. And if that's true, then maybe he's here to do the same with me. Maybe this is the day I've been waiting for, that I'd almost stopped believing would come.

He looks at me again, "I realised that actually talking feels fucking good."

I wait for him to continue. He doesn't. My thoughts are travelling at ninety miles per hour. I don't know what he's told Mimi, but it's something. And thank God, he seems happy about it. He seems more alive than the last time I saw him.

Is he finally ready? Can I do what Angel asked me? Now that he's ready to let me in, I might be able to start helping him. Which is all I've wanted to do from the start.

"So...?" I ask.

It's weird. He looks so embarrassed, like he's ashamed to be talking to me. Well, either embarrassed or whatever else could make his face that colour. I feel like I'm already seeing this side of him that's been invisible for so long.

"So I want to talk to you too." He says.

And he sits next to me on the bed and he looks at his hands, which are currently fiddling in a way to relax him.

"I'm sorry Mark." He whispers, "I'm sorry for shutting you out."

And something in that weak tone destroys me. It's so irrational, but I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I just really never thought this would happen, thought he might be lost forever. Yet here's Roger, vulnerable in an intimate way that feels intrusive to watch.

"It's okay." I say, "I understand."

"You don't though." He says, but not a dismissive snap like I was expecting, "How could you? I never gave you a chance to."

It's true, I suppose. He didn't let me understand, but maybe now he will. Maybe now I can know what he's thinking and know how to help him with it.

I'm worried that he'll stop, that he won't be able to finish his speech. That we'll get this close to clarity and then I'll be pushed away again. Maybe it's the journalist side of me, but I just need to know. I need to understand. I need Roger to let me.

Because I love him and I want to make sure he knows that. I want him to trust me.

"Well, can I have a chance?" I ask.

He cracks a small smile, not looking up, and it feels almost normal. Just like we used to. I used to make him smile all the time. I want those days to come back.

"I think so." Roger says.

I sit back and fall quiet. Now it's up to him to say whatever he wants to. I'll admit I'm still not expecting much, not so suddenly. Someone can't change this quickly - he can't have changed his mind on something so serious so randomly.

He keeps playing with his fingers, shuts his eyes and says quietly:

"I love you Mark."

And I'm sure I must've misheard because there's no way that's true. There's no way he could feel the same way I do. It's too unlikely, it's too lucky. It just doesn't make sense for both of us to love each other. Life doesn't work like that.

"I've always loved you." He says and I can see pain stretched across his face.

It can't be true. This is a dream. The man I've loved for years, who I'd lost hope on ever being the same again, is finally opening up and is confessing that he loves me too. What are the chances of that?

I can feel tension in the air that tells me there's a "but" coming. There always is with something so positive. There's never a damn happy ending.

"I know that you love me." He says.

I didn't know how obvious I'd been. I guess that sometimes I have wished he'd see my feelings and tried to express them silently through gestures, but I always thought that Roger wasn't an observant enough person to pick up on them. I always thought it was a game and I was the only player.

I guess I never thought he could love me back.

He looks at me and I see torment in his eyes. I see fear and hurt and all I want to do is hug him, apologising for not being there, and tell him that it's okay, that I'm here.

"But I _can't_ love you." His voice breaks as his body jerks with the first sob.

I pull him into my body as he starts to cry, remaining strong while I want to join in crying. Because I don't know what he means. I don't know anything.

Is this something he's been keeping in? Is this one of those dark secrets he's been carting around? Is he about to tell me something awful?

I don't know, but I know I want him to say it. If he loves me too, unbelievable as that is, I need to know what's stopping him. I need him to let me know him.

"I've been pretending." Roger says into my chest, "Because I can't love you and I can't hurt you."

He keeps crying and I keep my arms tightly around him.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

And I'm certain he's not going to answer, that this is the closest I'll get to knowing anything about him. I'm sure he's about to lock me out again. And if he pushes me away this time, I don't think he'll ever be able to let me back in.

He tenses. I can feel every muscle in his body tighten. I can feel his breath against me.

"There was a boy." Roger whispers, his voice shocking me, "When I was a kid."

I don't talk. I'm so scared that if I interrupt him, he won't be able to carry on again. He seems to be fighting himself to get these words out, I can't make it any harder.

I just keep hugging. I try not to think about the fact that I'm holding the person I love and who loves me - that'll just make this awkward. For now, he's the friend I've been missing, finally come back to me.

I feel him move even closer to me, if that's possible. He keeps his face hidden in my clothes, his voice muffled.

"I loved him. He loved me." He says, "He died because of me."

And I feel Roger shaking as he cries even harder. I'm just stuck in shock because my mind just can't get around the fact that he's talking, actually talking. He's telling me about his life before he knew me, which is something I've never heard.

And he's telling me horrible, traumatic things. I've never lost anyone. I can't imagine what it's like to have someone close to you die. I've never been close with my family, probably wouldn't be upset if one of them was to pass away. I can't empathise. It must be a kind of pain I couldn't possibly get my head around.

"I told him I loved him." He says, "He died that night because I let the world know I loved him."

I don't see how this is possible. Is that true? Or has he just convinced himself that this tragedy was his fault? Has he been living with false guilt for years?

Either way, it must still hurt. I can't even get my head around how much it must hurt - to lose someone you love so much and think it was because of you. So much that you push away anyone else and live with secrets.

"I can't love you Mark." He says, "Because you'll die too."

And everything inside me just shatters because I had no idea what he'd been hiding. Now here it is, all laid out in front of me. He's put his heart on the line and I need to do something. I need to make him feel like this was the right thing to do.

"It can't have been your fault." I say and he pulls his head out of my shirt, looking up at me with dead eyes, "I'm sure that it was nothing to do with you. I'm sorry that you had to lose him, but I know that living in fear like this wouldn't be what he would want from you."

Something about my words seems to strike a chord in Roger because he's suddenly smiling through his tears, laughing for no reason.

"You sound just like him." He says.

And I smile too and keep hugging him.

"You know," He says, "I think I've been disappointing him all this time. He'd have killed me if he knew I'd stopped myself from loving someone. He was always going on about how I shouldn't live in fear."

"Then maybe it's time you listened." I say gently, "Maybe it is time to stop living in fear."

He looks at me again and smiles. A heartbroken smile, but an honest one.

"I think you're right." He says.

And before I know what's happening, we're kissing and it tastes of salty tears. I can feel the heat of his body and lips on mine and the rest of the world fades away.

Who cares that our lives are a TV show? Who cares that things are still falling apart out there? Who cares about anything? Because Roger is kissing me and he's finally told me things and this day is most certainly a turning point for us.

Anything outside this room doesn't matter to me anymore. The only things that matter are what's going on in here.

"I'm sorry it took so long." Roger whispers.

"It was what you needed." I say, "Time to think."

Honestly, I hate how long it took. So long of thinking he'd never talk to me. So many sleepless nights of wondering if he was gone permanently, if I'd let him slip away. So many hours of holding Mimi as she cried over him.

It took far too long. But that seems okay now. Because we're here now. And that's what's important.

When we hug now, it's a different language. It has a new meaning. It's confusing and strange and beautiful and I'm glad that I've finally gotten to experience it.

"Hey." I say, "Since we have money now, I was wondering if you'd like to go down to the Life Cafe?"

He grins at me, "Is this a date?"

I just shrug, "It's whatever you want it to be."

And he laughs and kisses me again and right now, everything's okay.


	15. 15

Roger's P.O.V

I'm not quite sure when it hits me that the two teenage girls on the next table are talking about me. But as soon as it does, I find myself praying that this will not be the incident with Emma all over again.

Mark either hasn't heard or doesn't care because he's still in full enthusiastic lecturing mode, telling me something that I can't really focus on. All I notice is the happiness behind every word.

The girls aren't even pretending. They're staring straight at us, gossiping to each other. I always seem to forget that we're famous, that people will come and ask for autographs, that people out here know all about our lives.

And suddenly I don't want to be here. Because these girls can't see this. These girls think I'm dating Mimi, my closest friend. These girls can't see me on a maybe-date with Mark because it's like Alex told us on the first day - we're all single unless we're in an onstage relationship.

Mark seems to have some sixth sense because he's stopped talking and is looking at me. I look past him, intent on listening to the girls. He seems to pick up on what I'm thinking, sighs and subtly turns to listen better to them.

"Have they noticed us!"

"Oh my God, it's definitely them!"

"They're looking!"

I see that the girls are wearing RENT T-shirts and have actually curled their hair to copy Maureen's - a look that's apparently very popular since the rise of our show. We're dealing with a pair of hardcore fangirls here.

Mark goes back to ignoring them and turns to me, signals with his eyes to ask if I want to leave.

Yes I do, but I was looking forward to this so much and I refuse to let these girls spoil it. Though at the back of my mind is the nagging thought that they're going to say something and that I'll hurt them too. That's what makes me want to say yes. Because I don't want Mark to see me like that.

I'm completely frozen. It's like we're being judged. I'm scared of saying anything in case they hear. I know that they're just excited fans (which is a weird enough thought) but it feels like they're watching everything.

I don't want to get too close to Mark in case they see. But I'm sure they can see how awkward and panicked I look right now. I hate this so much. Why can't things just be simple?

"Who's your favourite?" One of the girls says to the other.

And that's it. We aren't characters. We aren't there for people to like. We aren't trying to be favourites. We're people and we're alive. We don't exist solely for their entertainment. We aren't there for people to analyse and discuss what parts of us they like most. That's disgusting.

"Roger's hot." The other says, giggling, "He's mysterious and sexy."

The other one sighs dreamily, "Yeah. And I'd love to be friends with Mimi. She seems so fun."

Like Mimi would ever be friends with her stalkers. Then again, they'd probably be better friends to her than I have recently. I bet they wouldn't make someone bleed and leave her to sort it out.

The girls look over at us again. They could at least try to disguise it.

"Mark's kind of weird, you know?" One says.

The other laughs, "Yeah, kinda geeky."

"No wonder he's single!"

And I can see Mark's eyes telling me that they aren't worth it, desperately begging me not to go near them. He looks so frightened and that hurts. Because he's frightened of me.

I ignore the girls because I can't give him more reason to be scared of me. Because I don't want to be that person. And I'm vaguely aware that this may be the first time I've ever fought against myself and won.

Mark seems to relax again as I sink down into the chair, looking at the table intently. I can't believe I was so close to jumping on those girls. I can't believe I can lose control so easily. I can't believe Mark almost saw it.

If I never want him to see that, I need to learn how to restrain myself.

The girls keep gawking and Mark goes back to telling me about some anarchist ideal or other. My focus is torn between nodding and putting in the right comments when they're needed, and listening to the girls to make sure they aren't running their mouths.

All in all, it's not very fun. Screw RENT for messing up this day. Screw Alex for producing this show. Screw me for going along with it.

Eventually the girls leave. I don't miss the way they flutter their eyelashes at me as they do. I make a point of looking as uninterested as possible.

We leave a few minutes later, considering this ruined.

"Well, that was a terrible first date." Mark observes as we step out into the street.

"Yeah well, it's crazy fangirls or a house full of a drunk camera crew." I remark.

He laughs, "The glamour of stardom!"

It's mental to look back on how our lives have changed. Only a few months ago, we were freezing and starving. We lived in an empty loft with no heat or electricity and barely enough food to get by.

Now we are warm and we have food. The loft is inhabited by far too many people and the only private areas are the bedroom and the roof.

Months ago, I slept in Mark's bed to keep warm. Now I continue to sleep in it and he lets me, even though the loft is plenty warm enough. It's just one of many unspoken transformations.

Before RENT, we were as close as anything. Now we're drifting apart. I haven't seen Maureen or Joanne in weeks, haven't seen Collins or Angel in almost as long. Now I only really see Mark and Mimi.

We walk past a derelict building that has the words _"FIGHT AIDS"_ sprayed on the side. Another person inspired by us. It should be a touching sentiment. Not to me. Not when I know what we've sacrificed to achieve it.

But I guess some good things have come out of it. Mark, for one. Opening up, as well. Kissing Mimi for TV - that I could live without. Fangirls - never something I wanted.

Mark's looking at me funny. It takes me a moment to realise that he wants to kiss me again. And I'm not averse to the idea, but something about it releases a panicked fluttery feeling inside me.

Because not out here, not in public. Not where people like my father will hurt us. Not where we're victim to the scrutiny of the world. Not where people who watch our show might recognise us. I can't be slandered by the newspapers again.

Mark keeps looking at me and I have no choice but to turn my back on him. What doesn't he understand? Anything we do in public will be known by the world. If we want secrets together, we have to make sure they stay indoors. We can't go about displaying these things like this.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly, looking away from the disappointment on his face.

"No it's okay." He says, "I was being careless. You're right."

I feel his hand slip into mine and tell myself that this I can do. This passes as friendship. This won't clue people in on the truth. This I can handle. Because it's Mark and he's so close to me right now and I can practically feel the happiness surrounding him.

"So," He says, "Since this was so shitty, maybe we can try again some time."

I smirk at him, "Are you proposing a second first date Mr. Cohen?"

He laughs, "Indeed. If that's okay with you and your busy schedule."

I slap his arm, "Sounds good."

"Good." He says.

We lapse into a comfortable silence, holding hands, walking to nowhere in particular. I don't know if we're going anywhere, if we're lost, or if we're just enjoying this moment of freedom. And I don't mind. Because this is nice and I feel the best I have in a long time.

We pass by murals upon murals, all different variations of _"SAVE OUR ARTISTS"_ and _"THE REAL KILLERS ARE THE RICH."_ And I'll admit that it feels kind of good seeing them.

Right now, I don't care if he's leading me off the edge of the world. Because I'm happy and Mark's happy and I've already forgotten all about the girls in the cafe. How can I be negative when the world seems to be on our side?

I let Mark lead the way, let him take me wherever he wants.

...

The script has changed. In a totally unprecedented move, Alex is making changes to his own ideas. And this shocking scene hits like a tonne of bricks.

There's the cameras all filming Angel and Collins - who both look tired and worn, though I'm not sure if that's just the makeup.

Collins holds Angel against his chest, stroking her hair. He's crying as she shakes, whispering gentle words.

I don't know why Alex decided to make Angel get sick in the show, but I know that Collins' tears are real and I know why.

Angel has AIDS. We know that she'll die of it at some point. It's no mystery that her health is declining. Collins has told me before that he's scared of what will happen the day the disease beats her.

While she is pretending to be ill, he is living his worst nightmare. He's watching her fade away, knowing that at some point this will happen in real life too. He's going to see her die twice. And I hate Alex for it.

Angel's body is shiny with fake sweat and her limbs are trembling. Collins holds her so tight it's like she'll disappear if he lets go. He cries, tells her he loves her, and kisses the top of her head.

Alex is grinning behind the camera and I can't explain how hard it is to resist punching that smile off his face. This is a woman creating a death that she knows will one day be real. This is a man being reminded that his girlfriend will eventually go through all this.

They are being shown their future. And the whole world is seeing it too.

Mimi is in the bedroom. She told me that she couldn't watch this. Because one day this will be her too. And me.

"Thirsty." Angel croaks out. Collins grabs a glass of water and helps pour it in her mouth, her hands shaking as she tries to hold it.

She looks so scared. Her eyes meet mine and I can sense the fear. She touches Collins' face lightly.

"Please don't leave." She whispers, her voice wobbling.

He keeps crying, "I won't. You remember what I said baby - I'll cover you."

And a weak tear slides down her cheek as a small smile plays on her lips. Collins just hugs her harder and I can almost hear his heart breaking from here. I can't believe Alex is making him do this.

Angel coughs. It's a horrible sound - wet and rattling. Is that real? Is she actually getting sicker? I don't know what's true anymore. It's getting harder and harder to distinguish between acting and reality.

The cameras stop filming as they hug. Alex goes to congratulate them, but Collins ignores him. Him and Angel are both crying still as they walk straight out the door, not even stopping for a word with me.

I get the impression that Alex has just pushed them too far. But I can also tell that he isn't going to stop here. He isn't going to stop until every aspect of our lives has changed beyond recognition.

...

_Love Affair Between RENT Co-Stars?_

_Today there have been reports of suspicious behaviour between the young stars of the new hit drama RENT. Mark Cohen, aged 19, and Roger Davis, aged 20, were spotted downtown by fans._

_Witness reports say that the two men were "definitely not there as friends" and "were 100% on a date." It remains unclear currently whether the sightings were correct or not. But the witnesses are adamant on what they saw._

_As far as the public are concerned, Cohen has never been romantically involved with anyone. Though there have been rumours for a while that he is homosexual. Perhaps this is proof._

_If this is correct, the real question is:_

_What will Mimi Marquez, Davis' apparent girlfriend, think of this relationship?_

_Our team will be talking to Marquez later this week to ask her thoughts. But for now, it stays unclear whether Cohen and Davis are indeed a couple and whether Marquez knows anything about their relationship._

_Alexi Darling, Buzzline._


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w death

Mark's P.O.V

I read the article. I read it and Mimi reads it and we both try to make sure Roger doesn't read it.

She storms up to me, waving the newspaper, saying that they've done it this time. I've never seen her so angry.

"Fucking presumptuous snobs." She snaps, shoving the article in my face.

And I read it and I hate myself. Because I took him out, I suggested a damn date, I risked everything and it's backfired. I just wanted to do something nice, something we could enjoy for once because don't we deserve that? And now we've got a national story in the news about our forbidden gay love.

These reporters just have to go sniffing around, sticking their noses in our business. Uproot a few more lives while you're at it, kill a few more relationships. Ruin the best thing I've had in ages.

I calm Mimi down and we sit for a minute.

"Roger can't read this." She says quietly, "It'd kill him."

"I know." I say.

She's going to have to go for an interview. But I'm going to make sure Roger doesn't get caught up in this. It's my mess after all.

...

"I just don't understand why she has to die!"

Alex smiles, "It's nothing personal Mr. Collins. Most good TV shows kill off a character at some point. It makes the audience more emotionally invested."

Collins stares at him in horror, "But you promised her an equal role!"

Alex just smiles sadly, as if this is all some minor inconvenience.

"I assure you, Ms. Schunard will continue to be paid the same as all the actors. Her death will just deepen the plot." Alex says.

Collins' face is drawn tight, all lines and exhaustion. His hands are shaking with anger and his usually calm demeanour is slipping.

"These are our lives we're reenacting." Collins growls, "Angel is not dead, so she shouldn't die in the show."

Alex just smiles again.

I understand completely where my friend is coming from. In handing Angel over to death in RENT, it's reminding him of what will happen soon enough in life. It's a reminder he doesn't need, one that none of us need.

Alex is making our future seem more imminent, making the upcoming deaths seem real. He's poking at wounds that we need to let heal.

"Sir." Alex says calmly, "Ms. Schunard will die in the next episode. She will be paid full wages after that and will be able to live peacefully. She's already popular among fans; her death will tug on their heart strings."

Collins just keeps staring at him like he's lost his mind. I can see all these words fighting to get out, all the things he'd like to say to Alex. But somehow, he manages to keep them in. He shoots Alex a look and sits down.

"Okay." He says quietly.

"Perfect." Alex says, "Let's film the death scene now."

...

3rd Person P.O.V

No one witnessed the murder of Angel Dumott Schunard. No one saw the rock that smashed her skull or the gloved hands that pushed her into the park river.

The river right next to the wall with the original RENT-inspired mural. Angel drowned beside the words _"ARTISTS ARE THE TRUE WARRIORS."_ Ironic, isn't it?

No one saw the man who burned the gloves afterwards, to make sure that no traces of his DNA could be found near the body. He was nothing if not thorough. A murderer who gets away with it is a genius. A murderer who gets caught is a fool.

Alex Rivera ran to the police station, having got out of his wheelchair only days before. He found the body and he burned his gloves and he made sure to tuck the used rock into his pocket.

He was no fool.

He was distraught. Couldn't stop crying as he told the police that he'd found the body of one of the big stars of his TV show. He told them that him and Angel had clicked immediately and had been great friends. The police offered him infinite sympathy.

He was an actor.

News hit slowly.

Mark Cohen was certain that Angel had known what was coming. He recalled their conversation weeks before, when she had talked about something that was going to happen that she couldn't tell him about.

But how could she have known?

The police concluded that she'd been out for a walk, had lost her footing and had slipped and fallen into the river. The blood was because she'd hit her head as she tumbled down.

So Mark was stumped. How could Angel have known she was going to die in an accident?

Thomas Collins was defeated. He lay in his apartment and cried. How had he let this happen? In his grieving state, he didn't connect the dots. But it was painfully clear in his head that something was wrong.

His conversation with Alex was at the forefront of his slow, miserable thoughts. Angel's death scene, followed by her death.

He didn't see the connection, didn't see anything. Just tried to figure out how to carry on without her, tried to smile for his friends, tried to make sense of the sludge in his head.

Mimi Marquez held Collins as he cried. She'd had enough. There was too much trauma in their lives. She couldn't blame this on RENT, but the TV show had definitely been the start of their bad luck.

She wished that things could be okay again. But it was clear there was no coming back from this. There would be no okay, not without Angel.

Other than Collins, the worst affected was Roger Davis. He dwelled on the fake therapy sessions from weeks ago, remembered all the selfless, generous things Angel had done for him. And he cried because she would never smile again. She was gone.

This wasn't a coincidence to him. Not after what he'd overheard Alex saying - so long ago he'd almost forgotten all about it - about something happening in the park, making sure there was a big rock by the river.

Roger was sure that this was because of Alex and that he himself had failed to save Angel, when all along he knew of whispered plans.

He couldn't tell anyone else that he thought Angel had been murdered. They wouldn't believe him - he didn't really believe himself. He decided it was grief talking, looking for someone to hate.

The one thing they all agreed on was that Angel was gone before her time. She was not supposed to die so young. She had so much more good to bring to the world. And now they only had the memories of her to cling onto.

The pain of losing a loved one is like nothing else. You can't get up. You cry until there's no liquid left in your body. You can't get over the enormity of your loss, can't comprehend that they're gone forever and you'll never see them again. You think of all the things they'll never get to do, all the things they wanted to do, all their dead dreams.

Nothing feels real anymore. Nothing matters. Everything else comes to a standstill. Your life stops.

Unless you're forced to carry on filming.

Roger had no proof, Mark had no words, Mimi had no strength, Collins had no love, Alex had no danger of being discovered.

Maureen Johnson and Joanne Jefferson didn't even know what had happened.

All anyone could do anymore was cry. Cry and wonder why the hell Angel had been the first to go. So many of them were dying, so many of them could have been taken, but it was her - the one with the least sin of them all.

All enquiries led back to the cause of death being nothing more than the mud under her feet. Each time that was announced, Roger started believing it more, started telling himself that Alex had nothing to do with Angel's death. After all, Alex seemed almost as upset as they did.

At some point, Mark's priority became helping Collins. The older man didn't know what to do with himself anymore. And while he was mourning Angel behind the scenes, he also had to do it in front of the cameras because they'd orchestrated her death into the show just before the incident by the river.

Mark's days started going something like this: sit with Collins (absent as he was), check on Mimi, check on Roger, ask Alex what this meant for the show.

In Alex's mind, nothing had changed. Production should still go ahead. They should start recording while this horrible emotion was still fresh. That would make the post-death scenes seem more realistic. That was the most disgusting thing any of them had heard in a long time.

Someone had to make the call to Maureen and Joanne. Alex did it. No one wanted to break the news.

The good things faded. The light flickered out. All anyone could think about was Angel. They knew she'd be furious at that, knew she'd want them to move on. But they couldn't help it. How can you get through a death without grieving?

People just grieve in different ways. Mimi cried a lot, got overwhelmed. Collins became despondent, needed someone there to talk to him. Roger just seemed to keep it all in, cried silently and hugged Mimi whenever she was around. Mark tried to help everyone else but he just felt so tired.

Angel's death was killing them. How could they carry on when they knew that this could soon be them, that one day almost all of them would be gone? How could they live without the light she brought with her, without the love she spread?

How could Alex expect them to keep acting?

How did this happen? How did things get so bad? They sold out. They became famous, got money. Things started to look up. And then it all crashed down again.

And then the director killed Angel - the life of the family.


	17. 17

Roger's P.O.V

Two days. Alex lets us have two days off. Those two days pass in a blur of tears.

"I understand it's hard." He tells us, "I understand it hurts. But we need to start filming again while this emotion is raw."

Because to him, all that matters is the audience believing that Angel's death really has broken us - Angel's death from AIDS, not from falling in a river.

_Body Of Up-And-Coming Star Angel Dumott Schunard Found In River_

_Last night the body of RENT star Angel Dumott Schunard was found at the bottom of a river in New York. She had suffered head injury and had drowned after. Police have concluded that there was nothing suspicious surrounding her death._

_One thing is for sure: RENT has been involved in its fair share of tragedies in the short time it's been aired. It's become the most popular show in the country, but some viewers say they've only watched it for the drama that they know is happening behind the scenes._

_So, Alex Rivera, director of this booming success, what do you have to say? What are your thoughts on the many controversies following your show? And most importantly, how will you continue to film while honouring Schunard's death?_

_Alexi Darling, Buzzline._

The pain of losing a loved one is inexplicable. If you haven't experienced it yourself, it is impossible to put into words. Because when a friend dies, your whole world is torn apart. Reality itself fails to exist anymore. Everything starts falling.

It's so much more than feeling sad, than missing them. It's feeling angry - angry at them for leaving you, angry at life for taking them, angry at yourself for letting them go. So angry that you punch the walls and you scream until someone calms you down.

There's this emptiness. There's a gap in my heart where Angel once fit and now it's hollow and it feels like I can never be full again, like I'll always be missing a part of me.

There's physical pain. It's like a fist squeezing your heart, a huge weight sitting on your body. I can't describe it but it feels like I need to scratch off my skin, feels like it's crawling, feels like every inch of me aches and burns. Fatigue or just pure misery?

We cry. We cry more than I knew was possible.

The last week slips away, all the good things that happened are forgotten. Because the presence of the loss is overwhelming and it takes over my every waking thought until all I can think about is Angel.

I think about how the last time I saw her she was pretending to die of AIDS. Setting up. Filmed her onstage death. And then died. It's weird.

When someone dies, you think about their future - or lack thereof. You think about all their hopes and their goals and how they'll never get to do any of those things. Angel will never get the career she wanted, never get to live where she wanted.

More than that, she'll never get to eat, never get to smell something nice, never get to feel warm, never get that beautiful sensation when you do something you love. All the things we take for granted, she'll never do again.

It's terrifying how quickly someone can just stop living. One day they're here, the next nothing more than a memory. Human lives are so weak and you never know when you're going to lose everything.

I keep waiting for her to step in this room and smile at me, for her to interrogate me again and tell me that I need to stop being so depressing. And she'll hug us all and try to get us to be a family again.

But Angel's gone. She's never going to see us. We're never going to see her. She's gone and the numbing certainty of that feels so big, like I can't breathe under it. No matter how great her life was, her death is all anyone remembers.

I know she'd hate it. She'd want us remembering the good things, remembering her life instead of her death. But how can we stop? How can we fight these natural feelings that are stronger than all of us combined?

What is there to do but cry and wait for the cameras to start rolling again?

...

We try to help each other. But it's so hard when none of us know how to function anymore.

We understand that Collins must be feeling this the worst. And in my mind, any worse than what I feel must be unbearable. So I try.

He tries not to get us down, tries to seem okay. But it's all an act - how funny.

We don't talk about Angel with him. We just sit and we try not to cry and we sometimes talk about memories from when we were roommates, before we'd even met her.

Mimi asks if I want to go for a walk with her. I say no. I don't want to see the murals on the walls, just like the one Angel died next to. I don't want to be swarmed by "sympathetic" fans. I'd rather stay in the bedroom, away from the camera crew, and cry.

She cries too. Mimi sits with me and she asks me why it had to be Angel. She tells me that it should've been her instead, that she's made more bad decisions than Angel had. And I say no, it shouldn't have been any of them, no one should've had to die.

No one should have to die.

Yet here I am, still young and I've already had two of my favourite people die. You'd think that maybe I'd be able to handle a second death better. If anything, it's worse because it's the world's way of showing that it won't hesitate to take away even the best people. Any of us could be next.

Nothing is the same anymore. Conversations feel distant and quiet. I can't hear properly, not over the sound of Angel's voice playing over in my head. Like a broken record.

Everytime I see Alex, I want to ask what he knows. Because a very small part of me is certain he had something to do with it. He hated Angel. I heard him saying awful things.

But through the pain, I can barely find the energy to blame him. Not when no one would listen. Not when it's probably just heartbroken anger trying to get out.

The world seems to mock us as we cry, laughing as we all forget how to talk to each other. But Alex stays normal. Alex stays okay, while I don't even remember what okay means anymore.

Alex is okay, and I'm sure that when my thoughts are clearer again, I'll see the significance of that fact.

...

"Okay people." Alex says, "I'm sure you all feel rubbish, but we need to capture this now."

And so the camera crew flocks around us again. Instead of makeup to make us look better, they use it to make us look worse. As if any of us need that. We all look like zombies anyway.

Me and Mimi sit on the sofa. I feel so weak, so worn. I've done nothing for the past two days but I feel like I've not stopped moving for weeks. Death drains you.

None of us did anything. Death kills inspiration. My guitar's been sat on the floor beside the bed, Mark's camera on the desk. Motivation ceases to survive when your mind is a swamp of misery.

Mimi's hand is in mine but I can hardly feel it. Every nerve in my body has died except for the ones around my heart - and those ones just scream in agony. All of me is numb aside from the centre of all the pain.

This isn't life, I decide. This is a story. No one could ever end up in such a mess that they have to act for TV after their friend has died. This is too horrific to be real. No one could find themselves this far into hell.

Angel is dead. Alex wants us to film another episode - one about the aftermath of her death. This is cruelty, this is torture, this is something you could only ever read about. No life could be this bad.

The cameras roll again. If I had the strength, I would break them and stop this damned recording. But instead I sit on the sofa with Mimi and I cry and I pretend that these tears are for the fictional version of Angel.

"I can't believe she's gone." Mimi whispers as Alex signals to start.

I can't believe we've really handed our whole lives over to Alex like this.

"You think this is bad." I say, wiping away some tears, "Imagine how Collins feels."

She nods sadly, looks down, "But what about you? This must be like April all over again."

I tense up. She does too. And I want to scream again. Why does Alex need to bring these things up? Why remind me that I've had three people I love die? Why remind me how badly I failed them all? I want to kill him, want to hurt him, want him to feel how I do.

But I settle for letting sadness overtake all these thoughts. I sit here and I cry and I let the whole world see it because that's my life now. I'm no longer a person, I'm a character. I'm a character for people to love or hate, for people to feel sorry for. I'm nothing more than that.

"You can't tell me you're not hurt." I say.

She keeps crying, "Of course I'm hurt! I just watched someone die of the same disease that's killing me!"

And me.

Mimi completely breaks, becoming a sobbing mess. I pull her into my arms and I hold her and cry with her. And there is no acting anymore. This is all real. This is us, completely lost in the world.

"You aren't going to die." I tell her, "I won't let you."

And my voice breaks because the words are true. I've seen too many deaths, lost too many people. I will not lose her too. I refuse to. I don't care what kind of disease tries to take her, nothing is going to send her to the same place Angel's in.

"But I am." She says, and in her voice I hear genuine fear. And that's just too much. I can't have anyone else already giving in to death, not when it's been all too present in my life already.

"No you're not." I say. And she looks up at me with painfully red eyes, seeing that I mean it.

"I just miss her." Mimi says.

I hug her tighter. Saying we miss Angel does not do justice how we truly feel. It's much more powerful than simply missing her. But it's the best we can do with the limited vocabulary of the English language. It's the best we can give our viewers.

"Me too." I say quietly.

She lifts her head and kisses me softly. I'm confused for a minute, before I remember that in this show she's my girlfriend. So I kiss her back and I let our tears mix together.

"We can do this." I say, "We'll get through this."

I don't believe it.

"Just don't leave me." Mimi says in that broken voice.

And she isn't just asking me to stay. She's asking me to stay alive. She's asking me to not end up like Angel and like April. She's got the same worries as me, but reversed. She's afraid of me dying.

"I won't." I say, kissing her again, "I'm not going anywhere."

And she hides her head in my clothes, dampening it with the ever falling tears. I just hold her against me, feel her breathing and wish I could do something more to help, wish we could talk about Angel when we weren't on-set.

Because it seems we're most open when we're acting. This is the most we've talked about our feelings since Angel died. And that's scary.

Mark walks into the shot, looks at me and Mimi. Is that jealousy I see in his eyes? Whatever, he knows this is all fake.

"How is he?" I ask him.

"Still heartbroken." Mark says.

Mimi looks up, "Aren't we all?"

And Mark sighs, sits down next to us. His eyes meet mine.

"How are you?" He asks.

And I don't know. There's no way to explain how I feel. Mimi seems to sense that because she answers instead:

"Alive." She says darkly, "And wondering why the hell Angel isn't."

And that's the truest thing I've heard for three days. So true that Mark starts to silently cry too. And the last remaining piece of my heart shatters because only days ago I was kissing him. Now I've got to kiss my friend instead. And now everything happy is gone.

I have to fake my relationships for the public. I have to lie about who I am. And for what? For Alex?

"We'll do this." Mark says quietly, "For Angel."


	18. 18

Mark's P.O.V

Five weeks have passed. God, it doesn't feel like that long. It feels like yesterday when we were told that Angel's body had been found in the park.

Time is a strange thing. It can go really slowly or really quickly. And you never have any say in which way it happens. Sometimes the best things are over before they seem to begin, sometimes the worst things seem to stretch on forever.

Sometimes the most terrible things in your life flash past you - time has mercy.

...

The world mourns. It turns out that Angel really was the fans' favourite. There are marches held at night for her, people walking through the dark with candles held high. None of us attend.

These people don't know how it feels. They're viewing her death from the outside. For us it's not as easy as lighting a candle and then getting over it - this pain seems never ending.

I wish it could be like that. I wish we could stop hurting.

...

I hold Roger, my heart breaking for the thousandth time as he shakes. I don't know how to help anyone, when I can barely deal with this myself. But I can't leave him because his eyes are wide and frightened and I know he's scared of what will happen if he's left alone. I am too.

So I hug him and I cry too. I don't know how he feels. I can't even imagine it. This is the third person he's lost now. Something about that scares me, urges me to say:

"I'll always be here."

Because is that what he needs? Needs to know that not everyone is going to die and leave him behind? Needs to know that he isn't going to be alone?

"That's exactly what he said." He whispers.

And the silence finishes the sentence - _"and then he died."_

"I mean it." I say, "I promise."

He doesn't believe me, I know it. He can't let himself believe me in case it just leads to more pain. But he turns and he relaxes in my arms and I let myself think that maybe, even just a tiny bit, I'm getting through to him.

Funny, I can't do anything to make myself feel better, but I can help other people.

...

It isn't the worst part of this disaster, I can't say that, but it's certainly up there.

Benny leaves us voicemail. He can only be bothered to reach out to his old friends when someone dies. How sweet.

_"Hey Mark. I know it'll be you who answers so...I heard about Angel. I'm sorry, if you ever need to talk, I'm here. I'm sure you've all got a lot going on with your successful show and...Angel. But the offer will always stand. Call."_

I press the button to delete the message. If he fucking cares, he can get down here himself. Unless he's too busy with Alison. And if he doesn't care, he can stop pretending and just completely forget us.

He needs to make a choice.

...

"This is all wrong."

It's the first time I've heard Collins speak since we found out about Angel. It's been so long since I heard that voice.

"I know." I say.

He stares at me, "No. I mean, we're doing exactly what Angel would've tried to make sure we didn't."

His hand clamps onto mine, big and heavy and warm. There are no tears in his eyes, just this hardened determination. It took six weeks for him to talk again, and now he looks like he's been to hell and back and wants to do something about it.

"We can't do this." He says.

He's crying now. Crying quietly, his body barely moving. He looks so still, with his head raised like a statue. He doesn't look alive.

"Then what do we do?" I ask.

And he wipes away his tears, "Carry on. Live like she would've wanted."

I can see that he's struggling to say this. I can see that the idea of moving on hurts him more than anything else. But I can also tell that he sees that it's the right thing. He knew Angel better than any of us. He knows what she would've wanted. He knows that he won't be able to live knowing she'd be upset with the way he's doing it.

"Are you sure?" I ask him.

He nods, so slightly I almost miss it.

"We have to." He says firmly, drying the last tears, "Together."

And now it's my turn to cry. When I feel Collins' arms around me, I remember what it means to feel safe, to feel okay.

...

In the end, it's Collins who wakes us from our depressed slumber. He's the one who breaks the horrible mourning we've fallen into.

It's what Angel would have wanted, he says, we need to live as if she's still here. Live like we would if she was alive.

It seems to make him even more tired, but he's started to smile again. And that's something.

Accepting her death won't heal us immediately. It'll probably take years until we feel whole again. But at least, we're starting. We're on the right track in this area, even if everything else in life is flying off the rails.

Everything else is going to just keep getting worse. But we're ready for this to begin the long process of getting better - where Angel's concerned, that is.

It will take a long time. But that journey can start now.

...

Sometimes I worry. Onstage, Angel died of AIDS. Behind the scenes, three other people have the same disease. I worry about losing them.

I worry about what will be left of our relationships when this show is over. When the series is done.

I worry about what Alex has done to us, about how we'll ever recover. I worry about Collins missing Angel and about the world seeming to know about whatever my relationship with Roger is.

I worry about Maureen and Joanne and what's going on while I can't see them. Have they even shared a conversation since Alex broke them up? Will they ever remember how much they love each other?

All I want to do is make sure Angel's pleased with however we live our lives. And the sad part is, I know a TV show doesn't fit into that.

A TV show that forces friends to kiss, that makes us have to hide our real relationships, that tears apart couples, that ends with someone dead. A TV show that has brought us nothing but pain.

Will we ever be able to live how we want to? Will we ever be free of the influence of RENT?

Mimi has an interview. She has the choice to either pretend to be upset by mine and Roger's date - and risk causing even more chaos - or telling them she doesn't care because she isn't really his girlfriend. But what will the impacts of that be?

All I can do is try to keep the choppy water as calm as possible, try to lessen the blow of these terrible things.

All I can do is wait and see.


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angel is my queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w death

3rd Person P.O.V

Angel knew it was coming. She'd known all along.

Angel was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason. That's why she faced death so fearlessly, because she knew there must have been some greater plan. There must have been a reason why she was selected to die so young.

She knew what Alex wanted to do, heard him planning that night. She also knew that Roger had heard, and that threw her. It was one thing knowing you had to die, it was another thing knowing that someone else was going to blame themselves for not helping after you had died.

Angel wasn't brave. She wasn't reckless. She didn't want to die. But she accepted that it had been decided for her, that she would have no say in her fate.

She knew that no one would understand her decision, and they didn't need to. That's why she kept it to herself. They'd call her crazy, say she had a death wish, shout at her for choosing to leave them.

That's why she went around offering those therapy sessions. That's why she practically begged Mark to try harder to help Roger. Because she knew that time was ticking by and that she wouldn't always be there for them.

She was scared.

Angel believed in heaven. A life after death was the only thing that kept her sane, knowing from a young age that she would have a short, AIDS-filled life. She couldn't go on, thinking that there was nothing waiting for her up there.

She wasn't scared of dying. She'd known it would happen eventually, had grappled with that since the day she was diagnosed. What Angel was scared of was the people she would be leaving behind.

She loved Collins so much, and of course she wasn't ready to be separated from him. She wanted to be with him forever, and she didn't want to have to watch him carry on heartbroken when she was up in the clouds.

And then there was Mark and Roger. She was glad that something had happened between them, but she was afraid of what would happen when she was gone. Because she'd spent her life looking over them, making sure that they didn't drift apart too far.

She prided herself on keeping people together. And God knows that they needed her to do that.

And what about Mimi? Angel and her were such good friends. She'd miss all the fun conversations and hitting the bars together at midnight. She'd miss the thrilling nights filled with booze and bad jokes. And she knew that Mimi would be lost without her.

Angel knew that they'd all suffer. But she knew that nature had to take its course. She had to give up her body and join the light.

It wasn't an easy move to make, to know that you were going to be murdered and know that you couldn't fight it. But it was one that she made, as reluctantly as possible. Because who could ever be prepared to leave their lover and their friends to grieve them?

As hard as life could be, most people were never truly ready for it to be over. Because death was permanent. There was no coming back. As much as you could pray for death, you still knew that it was forever and that there would be no backing out.

It was an irreversible move.

Angel is already dead. She died almost two months ago. Her friends have decided that they need to at least try to carry on with their lives, instead of wallowing in their sadness. And Angel is proud of them for that. She sees that she managed to make an impression, to leave a mark on them.

If she can't be there with them now, her memory can at least help inspire them to make the right choices. Her soul can live on.

Angel went to the park that night. Alex had asked if she wanted to get a drink at the Life Cafe. She knew it was a trick. She knew that she would never come back home. But she still went.

She spent the whole journey there wondering if she had chosen correctly in not telling anyone what she knew. They'd only have panicked, she thought, tried to have stopped her from meeting Alex. And maybe it would've been the right move, but she thought that if this was her destiny then it had to be fulfilled.

She couldn't tell anyone or it would be prevented.

It had been so hard, having to act out her death for the cameras, knowing that this was just the first step towards her real death. Once she no longer was needed for the show, Alex was ready to get rid of her.

Angel had to die in Collins' arms, knowing that not long after, she would be dying alone somewhere. She had to see how her boyfriend was affected by her onstage death, knowing that he would soon be suffering the same way from her actual death.

And she couldn't tell him.

It tore her apart. She hated it, hated Alex, hated the universe for dealing her such a shitty hand.

She hated having to plead Mark, knowing that if he failed, Roger would be gone forever. At least she could smile now and see that she'd succeeded at that.

Angel had spent her last day with Collins. After she'd died in the show, they'd gone home. She'd kissed him and hugged him and he laughed and asked what had got her being so affectionate. If only, she thought, if only you could know.

But he couldn't. So she made the most of her last hours with him. Because until he joined her, she'd just have to watch him from afar. This would be the last time she could kiss him.

It was too selfish to say she hoped Collins would be reunited with her soon. She wanted him to live as long as possible, even if it meant all that time with them in separate worlds. But most likely, they'd be together soon enough. Evil diseases tended to work like that.

Still, Angel let herself show Collins how much she cared. She kissed him more passionately than ever before. And when he asked what had brought this on, she just said, "Because I love you, and you should know that."

All she wanted was that one day, he'd be able to look back and be happy when he remembered. Angel just wanted to make sure Collins never forgot how much she loved him, and would continue to love him even when she was gone.

So she walked in the dark through New York, past the people sleeping on the floor, sheltering from the wind. Angel dropped the last of her money next to them, a surprise for in the morning. She wouldn't need it where she was going anyway.

She walked and thought about the life she was going to be exiting soon. Thought about the great people and memories and all the things she'd never get to do with them. Never get to help Mimi start a proper dancing career, never teach Maureen how to sew, never get to back Roger's latest song with her drums, never get to be the first person to see Mark's documentary, never get to tell Joanne "I told you so" when her predictions for the lawyer's newest case turned out right, never get to see if Benny ever came over to reconcile honestly. Never get to kiss Collins again.

There was so much she'd miss, so many things she'd got planned to do with her friends - activities that had been pushed to the side when RENT became everyone's focus.

Because that was where everything started to go wrong, wasn't it? When they agreed to do the show. That was why Maureen and Joanne broke up and why Benny came and stirred things up again and why she was going to be dying.

Because of Alex Rivera - the young, transphobic, murderous director and his meddling.

If only he'd never arrived in their lives, she'd still be alive and Maureen and Joanne would be together and no one would be worrying about Benny's terrible attempts at apologies. Mark and Roger wouldn't have to worry about the newspapers finding out and Roger wouldn't have to kiss Mimi. Angel would still be at home, with Collins, with her friends, alive.

But she couldn't think that. She told herself that this was just the way things had to be. She walked to her death.

She walked willingly to her death, thinking of all she would lose as she did so.

She saw Alex, saw the rock, saw the spraypaint sentiment on the wall, saw her life flash by before her eyes.

Good things. Happy times. Smiles. Kisses. Hugs. Laughs. Music. Love.

Angel smiled and let the rock break her skull, let her body fall into the river, didn't even try fighting for air. Didn't try to break the surface of the water. Because she was bleeding and she felt so tired and she knew she couldn't survive.

Her eyes were heavy and her clothes were dead weights that dragged her limp body to the bottom. She was bumped around by the current, banged and scraped against the rocky walls on either side of the river.

She let the cold water hold her under, let her lungs burn. Her tears were lost in the river, her blood was carried out to sea. There was guilt for a minute, wishing she'd told someone that this wasn't an accident, that it was all Alex. And then there was nothing.

Then there was death.

Her thoughts didn't stop per se. They just slowed. Everything was dark for a moment, until the blinding white light shone down from the sky, calling Angel to join it, to say goodbye.

She looked around, saw her dead body with water lapping around it, saw the mural about artists on the wall, saw Alex starting to leave for the police station.

Angel took one look at the world. And then she flew.

As she ascended, she saw the loft where her friends would be sleeping. She thought of them waking up tomorrow to news of her death, thought of how she'd have to watch them mourn. And she hated Alex again, hated his TV show.

Angel let the last tear fall - there could be no human experiences in heaven, just the spirit forever drifting - as she prayed that her friends would find a way to pick their lives back up.

She prayed that the show would soon be over and things could go back to normal.

It would be hard, she thought, having to watch them cry without being able to help. It would be so difficult for her to see what was happening without being able to do anything about it.

Life was unbearable at times, but Angel was going to miss it. She was going to miss the people and the experiences. She was afraid that over time she'd forget how it felt when your heart skipped a beat just from looking at the person you love, how it felt to submerge yourself into the beautiful world of music, how magical it felt to stand on the roof and watch the world.

She was scared that she'd forget what it felt like to be alive, that she'd just be an outsider watching other people live when she couldn't even remember what her own life had been like.

Angel stepped up, glanced one last time at her pale body in the water, and let herself be lifted.

Angel's been dead for almost two months. Alex hasn't been caught. She will never stop regretting her choice.

She sits up there, with a boy called Johnny. The boy sits by the entrance every day, waiting, waiting for someone. Angel helps him since she can't help anyone else anymore. She tells him to stop waiting, that whoever he's hoping to see will show up eventually but he shouldn't rush their life.

And Johnny just says to her, "I just want to tell him it isn't his fault."

So Angel still feels useful. She gets a purpose, though not one as fulfilling as she did in life. She listens to Johnny talk about this boy he used to know, thinks about her friends, watches with pride as Collins snaps them all out of their daze.

She sees the world celebrate her life and she hates it. It is not touching, it is not moving. These people only knew the version of her from RENT. A funeral should be a private event for the close friends and family, it should not have people queuing at the door to get in.

It should be personal. This is just offensive.

Angel wishes that she'd never been in the show, wishes that her friends were able to grieve without cameras documenting it and fans trying to show their "support." She wishes people would give them space.

Can the world not see that these people are more than just characters? That they have their own lives and their own emotions and they need some time to deal with those - without people trying to interview them, without Alex filming their tears.

Angel looks down on a world she once knew, a world that she can no longer recognise. Everything has changed so much, and not for the better.

She watches as her friends dig themselves deeper into this hole every day, and she wonders what happened to the world? Why is everything foreign now? Why can't someone just let things be simple for those down on earth, even for a day?

Angel watches as life carries on below her. Because it does, doesn't it? No matter how painful it is, life always carries on.


	20. 20

Mimi's P.O.V

Corporate America is disgusting. It's full of soulless people in smart suits and high heels with perfect makeup and straight hair. I bet they've never come across dirt before.

Shoes click on the marble floors, the shine of the slabs hurting my eyes. Red lips and smooth skin and ironed trousers move all around me. And all I can think is that these people really have no idea what's going on in the suburbs just minutes away from them, if they're living in this kind of luxury.

Keep up people. Some of us just down the street are starving. And these guys look like they have a pair of shoes for every day of the week.

"Miss. Marquez, we're ready for you."

This man must keep the entire hair gel business running by himself. Surely, having that much in must make his head feel heavy. And his bowtie is the ugliest colour combination I've ever seen. Even his moustache is a horizontal line.

I'm sure just the sight of me offends him. I'm sure my untamed hair and the lack of makeup makes him feel uncomfortable. I hope that the thin cardigan and the skirt and tights - all so old and worn - make him see how good he has it.

Because, sure they're paying us, but the only person who's been given a decent wage is Mark. And that's only because he's not done anything to piss Alex off yet. The little extra money doesn't make a difference in my life; I still can't afford my dreams.

I can buy food, sometimes pay for the electricity. That's about it. I still have to wear the same clothes that look like I've picked them up off the roadside, and even the food I can get now is barely an upgrade from before. Alex is a deceitful worm.

He pays Mark generously for being the one gullible enough to obey his every wish, for being the one who doesn't stir up trouble. He pays the rest of us just enough so that we can't take him to court, but nowhere near what was promised.

This office reeks of upper class selfishness.

Look at all these fancy potted plants and these huge paintings. I have scraggly little weeds that grow unwanted between my floorboards and the odd family photo or two.

They have smug smirks and well-paid jobs and the knowledge that they're my superiors. I have the aspiration of become a dancer, but a sell-out job that I'd hoped would pay enough to fund my goal. And it doesn't.

All I got out of it was a broken heart and broken friendships. I agreed frantically, saying that I wanted fame. Really I just wanted a shot. Wanted enough money to maybe live out my lifelong dream.

Because that's all the us artists are, isn't it? Dreamers. We have all these grand ideas, all these beautiful things we want to do. We starve and we freeze for them. We act on the spur of the moment, we agree to foolish things. Because we're desperate. Desperate to be seen, desperate to prove to ourselves that our harsh lifestyle was worth it.

But the reality is that most of us try all these things, but still never get to achieve. We never reach our goals, we never get our art seen. Because we're poor and we're rough. And who wants ex drug addicts and sex workers in their dance troupe? Not the general American public, that's for sure.

So I can let my hair get wild, I can dress how I want. No matter how presentable, all I'll ever be to them is another of those ones from Avenue B, another artist, another highschool dropout, another one gone.

God knows I've tried. I got off drugs, I quit my job at the Cat Scratch Club. But my record seems to equal who I am. My past is all that matters to them. There are no second chances for people like me.

I signed up for the goddamn TV show. Thought that maybe, if I scraped together enough money from this, I could start my own dance company. That'd show those stuck-up snobs. That'd show those women who turned me away after a glance at my CV.

I get out of the chair - the _cushioned_ chair. I bet these people would have a heart attack if they looked at my apartment. I can already sense them itching to pull out their anti-bacterials to spray down the seat once I'm up.

Oh no, we wouldn't want your poverty to dirty our furniture. We wouldn't want any traces of that horrible disease that's killing you - our condolences about that, by the way, it's a shame we'll lose you so young. We wouldn't want people to see how much we oppress those less fortunate.

Because that's what they do. I'm not offered the same opportunities as rich people are. I'm turned away as soon as they see me. Because I'm broken, because I'm poor, because I've made some questionable choices, because I used to be an addict and a stripper and those are the kind of things that posh white Americans don't want their kids seeing.

They want to shield them from the real world. Well I wish there was someone to shield me from it. But guess what. This is my fucking life. That job was the only thing keeping me from being dead in some gutter. Those drugs were the only things that could make me feel alive.

Maybe if you opened your eyes world, you'd see how good you have it. You'd see that I had no other options. That I was a desperate, lonely teenager who was terrified of the life she'd found herself in. That I was scared of everything and that I was one payment at the Cat Scratch away from being evicted. That I was one meal away from dropping dead.

Maybe then they'd understand. Past me could never have dreamed of stepping into a building like this, let alone to be interviewed because of the dramas of the TV show she was in.

That TV show. It was meant to be great, meant to help people see the true lives of people like me and my friends. But we're still treated the same. Sure, a few people have created some artwork around town because of it. And that's beautiful and all but I'm still poor.

People are still homeless. People are still dying of diseases they can't afford treatment for. People are still being turned away from their dreams because the dark side of New York should not be allowed to mingle.

People feel sorry for us now, but there's been no change. They can write whatever they want, but actions speak louder than words. And so far, no one's done anything. They just look at us with pity. If they wanted to help that much, they'd put into charities and they'd hire us.

And they wouldn't be staring at me right now like I'm some freakshow.

"So pleased to meet you!" A small woman shakes my hand firmly, "I'm Alexi Darling."

The one and only. She's Buzzline's number one, the person responsible for every article about RENT.

Alexi's exactly how I imagined. She has that look in her eyes that tells me I do not want to mess with her. Something about the sound of her shoes and the ferocity with which she moves reminds me of a bullet - small but deadly.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to Ms. Schunard." She simpers sweetly.

"Angel." I say, smiling through gritted teeth.

"Right. I'm so used to the formalities with my team." She says.

Yeah, and to you Angel is just a story. Just another way for you to get richer. She was a real person, you know? She was one of my closest friends.

The woman walks so fast. Her legs shouldn't be able to move that quickly. I can barely keep up.

She takes me into an office that smells of air freshener and is full of fake flowers in vases. On the wall is a diploma with Alexi's name written in a fancy scrawl. Honestly, I'm surprised her job isn't down as "professional life-ruiner."

She gets paid to rummage around and interfere with personal lives. She kills relationships and starts full-on Internet wars. And most importantly, she never backs down. Alexi Darling doesn't know what it's like to lose. She is always right.

"Okay." She says, "We're going to record this session to look back on. If that's alright with you."

"That's fine." I say.

She nods briskly. Something tells me that she would've recorded it even if I'd said no.

"It'll only be used for a news article." Alexi says.

Great. Now I get my face printed on a paper. Now it's my turn to be publicly destroyed. It wasn't enough her exposing Mark and Roger, she had to bring me down here too.

She sits at her desk, showing me to the seat in front of it. She seems to be looking very closely at me, her eyes narrowed and her tongue peeking out of her lips in concentration. Her pen is tapping the desk and if this was any other person I'd tell her to stop.

"Okay." Alexi says, "Can you please state your full name?"

"Mimi Daphne Marquez." I say. I hate how her beady little eyes are making me feel so conscious of what I'm wearing and how I speak and how out of place I am in this office.

"And your job is?"

"I'm an actor." I say. Not by choice. I didn't want to be an actor. But no one wants to see the skinny ex-junkie girl dance. And a destructive TV show was the only option.

"Where do you live?"

That's a bit personal.

"Avenue B." I say.

She smiles too widely, too fake, too exaggerated, lacing her fingers on the desk.

"Do you live in one of those rented lofts?" She asks, still smiling.

And I want to slap her. Yes I do. I live in one of those places that would give you nightmares. Your crisp clothes and flat hair wouldn't last a second there. You'd pass out from the sheer horror of how our lives are complete opposites.

I smile back, "Yes."

We just sit grinning at each other for a minute and I can feel the tension. It's like this is a competition that we're both too proud or too stubborn to back out of. I can almost see the lightning shooting between our eyes.

"And you are one of the actors in the show RENT?"

"Yes."

"May I just say how much I love your show." Alexi says, "It's so gritty and real and it's what us here at Buzzline are all about."

I can't stop my eyebrows from raising, "Really?"

"Yeah!" She says, "We may delve into the tabloids, but we are a news show at heart. We love to remind people of the battles going on just outside their doors."

She's convincing. This woman is a good actor, I'll give her that. She almost has me believing that she genuinely cares about what me and my friends are going through. But I simply have to remind myself of the articles she's written of us - and the fact that she's got me down here for an interview about our love lives - and I easily remember that she's just after gossip.

"You know why you're here, don't you?" She says.

"Yes. To sell you my soul."

She lets out a high, grating laugh - but there's something unnerving in her cold eyes.

"Ms. Marquez." Alexi says, "You are Roger Davis' girlfriend, correct?"

And I pause. No I'm not. I'm his friend. I've been his friend for years. I have to kiss him for the cameras but I am not his girlfriend. But is it my place to tell her that - knowing she will sing it out to the world after?

Because I promised that I'd keep my relationships secret when I joined the show. I agreed that as far as the audience were concerned, my on-screen relationships were my real ones too.

But the world saw Mark and Roger on what they thought - and what I know - was a date. And I have to do something about that.

The question is: do I keep on acting and risk ruining what they share, or do I expose it and send the world into uproar?

I remember last night, when I talked to Mark about this. I asked him what I should tell her. Do I tell the truth or just keep on feeding this lie? And he looked at me tiredly and said:

_"Do what you think is right."_

And in this instant, I know what's right.

"No." I say, watching Alexi's jaw drop, "I'm his best friend."

Because Mark trusted me with this decision. He trusted me to go with my gut instinct. And every part of my body is screaming at me to be honest, to stop the world from thinking that I'm dating Roger.

I know there's going to be repercussions. I know that I may yet live to regret this. I know that Mark may not have wanted this and Roger may hate me for it. I know that this will be on the front page of every paper and that it could potentially kill our showbusiness careers.

Because who wants to see people pretend to be in love?

I may have doomed RENT with these words. But at this point, I don't care anymore.

I can't deal with the people who write things about what a great couple we are. I can't keep hiding. And I know that maybe I shouldn't have admitted it, but I can't live like this.

"We're actors." I say, "We act. It's what we do."

Alexi seems to compose herself, shutting her mouth and flattening her shirt.

"Then what about these rumours of a romance between Roger Davis and Mark Cohen?" She asks, leaning forward greedily.

And I don't want to tell her. Not because of privacy, but because she looks so eager. Because I don't want to feed the beast, add fuel to her fire. I want to disappoint her. I want to show her that you can't always have your way.

But Mark's words ring in my head:

_"Do what you think is right."_

And when he smiled, I knew what he meant. He wanted me to tell her. He wanted me to step up and be the one to break the horrible spell RENT has us under. He wanted to be able to live and love who he wanted without the press freaking out over it.

Because if I admit it, tell her yes, there'll be an initial surge of media attention. And sure, they won't enjoy that. But after a week or so, it'll have died down and the world will already have forgotten. It's better than having to hide their relationship, right?

Is it in my right to tell her? Am I ready for what damage this could do? If we're really lucky, could it even mean the end of RENT?

Could it mean our lives will finally be able to get back to being as normal as possible?

"It's all true." I say, "They're dating."

And the huge weight of what I've just done hits me. But instead of guilt, it makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel like I can do whatever I want with no consequences.

I don't think about what I have just confirmed, about whether Mark really did want this or if I just interpreted it wrong. I just get up out of the chair, leaving a gobsmacked Alexi Darling gawping at me.

I'll bet she's not used to people walking out on her. That's just an added bonus to me.

I walk out of the office, the world exploding around me. But the flames cannot touch me. I'm invincible.

Alexi's heels are deafening as she chases after me, but all I can hear are the infinite possibilities in my head - a million voices clamouring, telling me all the ways this can go wrong, telling me I've messed up.

But I try to block them out. Because I think I've done us all a favour. I think that this was the only way to go. There's only so much acting one person can take.


	21. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i want the kind of friendship mimi and roger have

Roger's P.O.V

_Interview With RENT Star Mimi Marquez Reveals Shocking Secrets_

_An interview yesterday with Marquez showed the world that she is not dating Roger Davis. It is all a scam. We've been lied to._

_In fact, Davis is actually dating co-star Mark Cohen and Marquez is just a friend who kisses him to trick us._

_Director Alex Rivera, explain yourself. Why play with us like this? You have fans who love your show, and you risk losing them all now by having Marquez reveal your secrets like this. Why make such a move?_

_Unless Rivera didn't have influence in Marquez's actions. Unless she has jeopardised the future of the show for her own selfish desire. If this is the case, tell me Marquez, is it worth it? Are you happy?_

_How are we to get back from this? How are we to enjoy the show anymore when we know it's fake? And more importantly, how are the fans going to react to Davis and Cohen's relationship? After all, it's their disgusting love that has caused all this._

_Rivera, you have seen success. Are you ready to say goodbye to it?_

_Marquez, why did you do this? Was it planned all along? Are you using this drama to just get your show more attention? Are you prepared for that to backfire and kill your careers? Are you prepared to make that sacrifice so soon?_

_The fans will not be impressed, Marquez. Something makes me think that they will be less than thrilled by Davis and Cohen's love. Something tells me that this won't be the end of the situation._

_Alexi Darling, Buzzline._

...

They don't forget about the article within a week. Or two. Or three. Four weeks later, I'm still going through hell for it.

I want to hate Mimi for it. She didn't ask my permission, she just went out there and told the whole world. And the world is less than compassionate.

It turns out that people are actually hurt by the fact our show lied. What did they expect? It's acting, it's not all true. There are mass demonstrations outside our house, people shouting at us, shouting out some quite vulgar words that I don't care to mention.

There's graffiti on our building, but not the positive kind anymore. Now it's all about _"GET OFF THE STAGE"_ and _"LIARS SHOULD STARVE."_

Mimi's been turned from a beloved character to a villain. The papers have been pumping out so many articles about how she went against the rest of the cast and crew by spilling secrets in that interview.

She's so guilty and has apologised so many times and no matter how hard I try, I can't hold it against her. Because who can hate a girl who's sobbing that she only did what she thought was right? I'd be a monster if I blamed her, when the rest of the world seems to be thirsty for her blood.

Alex's career is done, the paper said. I'll admit I found some amusement in that, seeing the man who I'm so sure had something to do with Angel's death fuming. He looked ready to explode, a bomb held out in Mimi's direction.

We haven't filmed any new episodes since. We're not sure yet if this really is the end for RENT or if we can bounce back. Alex doesn't seem very hopeful, just angry - storming around and shouting abuse at all of us.

The crew still live in the loft though. They still make a mess and banish us to the bedrooms. They keep on invading our privacy and getting in the way of our lives.

Mimi's been staying here. I really don't want her going back to her place, knowing that there's a furious mob trying to break in. I guess I'm just overprotective over her. But I've seen too many people die already, I can't risk losing another.

I also stand between her and Alex. I've seen the looks he gives her. I know that he's beyond mad that she blew up his hard work like this. I can almost understand it - he got his dream come true with RENT, only to have it all thrown away by one of his actors.

But then I remember that this is Alex, and he doesn't deserve anything good, and I'm happy that he's lost it all. And the sooner he realises that this is the end, the better. I can't wait to get him out of my life forever.

He's scared of me. Good. He doesn't want to be in a wheelchair again. Then he'd better stay away from Mimi.

I don't think that things can ever be normal again, even once this show's over. Angel is gone and we still haven't been given time to mourn properly. And the rest of us may as well be wanted criminals.

We've been told to stay inside. We need to let things calm down before we go out.

Five weeks. Six weeks.

They hate us. Any respect people had started to feel for the artists is gone, any love for us is gone. They are our victims.

Still, Alex tells us that the show will go on. We'll be able to carry on. We'll just have to change the script.

All thoughts of Angel are forgotten. One minute, the world is showing how much she mattered to them, the next it's trying to tear our walls down.

Because the world is fickle and people don't have their own opinions anymore. They follow whatever the media tells them, lets it put thoughts into their heads. It tells them to act like they're upset by this person's death - they do it. It tells them that these people are evil - they believe it.

People change their minds at the drop of a hat. It all depends on what the majority thinks, and the rest of the pack will soon follow. They're just a bunch of wild animals like that.

The world has turned against us. But strangely enough, things don't feel that different. Nothing seems to touch our little bubble anymore.

...

"Is this it?" Mimi asks.

She pauses the music and looks into my eyes.

"I don't know." I say.

She sighs, "I thought that it'd help. Now all I can hope is that the show gets cancelled."

"Amen."

All any of us want is for the show to get cancelled. It's our only chance now. Alex is determined to continue and won't let us quit, so now we're counting on it getting discontinued.

It's odd. I'd just started to think that maybe the show was an okay thing. Up until we were made to act out Angel's death, I thought that perhaps we really were educating people. But it was all just a publicity stunt for Alex and we blew that.

If the show ends, what happens to us? How do we get the money to live? How will we afford food? There'll be no heat again and we'll be freezing and dying. I don't know how much cold and hunger a person can tolerate before their body just gives up.

If this show ends, how will we survive? I hate everything about RENT and what it's done to us, but surely a life without it will be even worse.

We've had to hide. We've had to pretend to be people we're not, forgotten how to be true to ourselves. We've lost one of our best friends and not been able to even cry properly for her because of this disgusting reality we've wandered into. We've had the director mess with relationships until they break. I've had memories from the past come back and almost destroy, I've locked out my friends and finally let them back in.

When we agreed to this show, we never imagined what it'd do.

When we agreed to this show, Angel was...

Angel was alive. And now she's not. And we still don't know why.

When we agreed to this show, Maureen and Joanne were happy. Now they're staying as far away from each other as possible.

Collins was different. He was stronger and brighter. Death changes everything. He had everything taken from him when he decided to be an actor. He didn't know that day that he was opening himself up for heartbreak.

Because what did we get? Some money, yeah. But we also got our peaceful lives discarded.

We also got this woman on the news, talking about our show and the sins of homosexual love. We're going to hell, she says. We'll have painful lives and then burn in hell.

We also have those people online sending death threats and insulting us all, sharing our address. And the people outside the door who try to hurt us. We have a fanbase turned against us.

We all have our arts, we have our dreams. But they'll never be any more than that. Because we're poor and ill and we'll all be dead before anyone sees our potential - Mimi will never be a dancer, Mark will never be a filmmaker, I'll never be a musician, Maureen will never be on the stage and Collins will be stuck a professor.

We're doomed really. The world already has its plans for us. And those plans include us failing everything, never achieving. So, the TV show must die. This is as close as we can get to success that the world will allow.

"What do we do when it's over?" I ask.

Mimi looks up again, "God knows. Lay down and die?"

She laughs but I don't. This isn't funny. For all she knows, we will die. When the money stops coming in, what will there be keeping us from death? We all know that death is merciless - I've seen that plenty of times - so what's to stop it from taking all of us too?

"I'm serious Mimi." I say.

She takes my hand in hers.

"I don't know what'll happen to us." She says softly, "But I know that the show is about to exit our lives forever. And I know that you'll still be here, and I'll still be here and nothing will break us apart."

"How do you know that?" I ask.

She smiles, "A wise woman once told me that love is the strongest force of all - love will keep us together and love will see us through."

And I can't stop the grin, "She could've been a motivational speaker."

Mimi laughs, "She could've been anything. She had all the talents in the universe."

And we sit for a moment and let Angel's memory wash over us. I can't say that we lost her because of this show, but sometimes it really feels like it. I know that even when the show's done, we'll miss her and we'll cry over her. But we can also share the good things about her, just like now - and Angel would be happy to see that.

Mimi pulls me off the bed and hits play on her music. She rests her head on my shoulder, using her arms to move my body slowly.

"What are you doing?" I laugh.

And she slips an arm around my waist and tries to get me to feel the rhythm too.

"We're dancing." She says, "Unless that's too much of a challenge for you."

I laugh, "No way. Just don't cry too much when you see I'm better than you."

And she laughs too and I lift up my arm, hers moving too as a result of our laced fingers, and spin her, watching her hair fly around and her skirt fan out.

"That's where you're wrong." She says when she stops pirouetting, "Just know that I won't think you're any less manly if you cry when you lose."

I smack her arm fondly, "Bitch."

"Yeah." She says, hitting me back and doing a bad impression of me, "Bastard."

...

The cars speed past beneath my feet. The moon fights its way through the smog, trying to get its luminant light seen by the people who rush around on the streets. It reminds me of Alex, shoving his show into people's faces.

But that didn't go well. He messed up. Just like the moon is. Alex's work backfired. The moon's glow is defeated by the smog. We all get crushed.

I rest my arms on the rail of the balcony and I let my mind wander. I think of the fun I had with Mimi, and how guilty it made me feel that I'm laughing so soon after Angel's death. Is that disrespectful? Does it make me a bad friend to enjoy myself while I should be finding more tears for her?

I think of the people who want to hurt us. I think of Mimi telling Buzzline about everything and I wonder what that means for us. Because the only thing clear at the minute is that this part of our lives will be drawing to a close shortly.

The cars. The people. Everything down there keeps moving steadily. Things up here are sporadic and feverish in their unpredictable movements. But maybe soon we'll be outside again and things can slow down.

Maybe soon we'll be able to go out without people knowing who we are. Because if RENT is cancelled, it'll be forgotten quickly. It'll be just another one of those shows that seemed like it would be the next big thing but never got off the ground. It'll fade to the Netflix archives and soon enough, no one will watch it at all. Because who wants to watch the first series of a show that there'll never be more episodes of?

Dare I think it - maybe soon I'll be able to kiss Mark in public without making the front page. Maybe we'll win back our privacy and we'll be able to get on with things and not have to worry about what the audience will think.

It feels so weird. I never thought that the day would come when it would finally seem like we might be nearing the point of returning to normality. It may have caused some problems, but I'm glad that Mimi went for that interview and sent the world into madness.

There's so much bad stuff in my head: so many images of my father and the pain of losing him.

Johnny. That was his name. I'm finally able to say it in my head, finally strong enough to remember him without breaking down. Because Mark was right, it probably wasn't my fault that he died, and Johnny wouldn't want me hating myself for it. I know that. I know him.

I want him to see me now, changed maybe beyond recognition. I want him to know that I'll always love him but that I'm finally able to get over him, just as he would've wanted. I want him to see that I'm trying to carry on exactly the way he would've liked me to.

I want him to see that I've changed. I'm not the violent boy he knew. I'm a man who's learning how to control his emotions, but not by keeping them in. I'm learning how to express them instead, just like Johnny always tried to get me to do. Just like Angel did.

They really did have the same heart. All they ever wanted was to help me. And they both died.

I wonder, if there's such a thing as heaven, if they're meeting each other now. If they're both sharing the two different versions of me they knew with each other, telling embarrassing stories about me. But also both seeing how much they were able to mend me, even if I never showed them.

"Hey."

I turn and smile at Mark, who offers me a chipped mug of coffee. I take it from his hands and drink the warm liquid.

"Brooding again?" He teases, "I thought you'd got out of that phase."

I laugh, "It's called thinking."

He smirks, "Thinking? That's something you do?"

"Ha ha. Very funny Cohen." I say sarcastically.

He bows dramatically, "It's what I do."

"What?" I ask, "Make fun of people just because you know that no one's as clever as you?"

"Exactly." He laughs.

We stop talking, sipping at the coffee and watching the cars go by. It's oddly peaceful, for such a chaotic life.

I can sense Mark itching to say something, probably ask what's going on between us, where we stand. After all, we went on one date and then everything went mental. Angel died and Mimi killed the show in that interview.

I don't know what we are or what I want us to be.

"What happens now?" Mark asks.

I turn to him, "Now we go back to living."

He frowns, "But without Angel."

And I feel his hand slip into mine, feel the awkwardness coming off his body.

Silence.

"They're saying the show might be cancelled by the end of the week." I say, "Turns out there's only so much rioting people can handle before they act out."

He nods, "Good."

And the air's so thick, so tense. We need to get past this stage. We need to be comfortable with each other again. Because this is just uncomfortable and I hate it.

"Benny called." He says darkly.

"And?"

"He's coming tomorrow." He says.

"Oh."

I haven't seen anything of Benny since he moved out. I know he was involved in one of RENT's earlier episodes, but I wasn't part of that one. I also know that Mark has a grudge.

Personally, I've never really been offended by our ex-roommate's life choices. He got an opportunity and took it. He was the one of us blessed with good luck and a job. He didn't want to hurt us when he moved, felt bad for leaving, but I told him that he had to go. He couldn't pass this up.

In my mind, Benny was just the one of us who managed to get his way out of the life of the starving artists. I've admired the guy, and I completely understood his decision.

But Mark seemed to think Benny had stopped caring when he met Alison. I think Benny just found something else to care about, and I'm happy he did. Because he deserves happiness, no matter how much Mark resents him.

Or maybe that's just this newly discovered side of me that no longer wants anyone to live unfairly, after seeing first-hand what unfair is.

"Roger, what are we?" Mark asks.

"Humans?"

The corners of his lips tug up in a small smile, "Feeling like quite the comedian today, are we?"

I shrug, "Not appreciating my humour, are we?"

And his eyes meet mine and the awkwardness gets too much. I pull him closer and I kiss him gently and it feels so much better than all those fake kisses me and Mimi shared. Because his kissing back - that's real, that's love. And that's something I've not felt for a long time.

His hand is still in mine when we break apart.

"That's what we are." I say.

And he smiles again, "We're a wet kiss?"

"Hey, I thought it was my job to be the funny one." I say.

He laughs, "Sorry, the stage is yours."

He looks expectantly at me but I just lean forward and I kiss him again. And this is okay. Because RENT may be getting cancelled, and Benny may be coming to apologise tomorrow, but I know something now.

I know that, even when things are normal-ish again, I'll still have Mark here and I'll still be able to kiss him like that. Because I love him and he loves me. And I may not be quite ready to say those words out loud yet, but we know they're true.

And I know that I'll be able to eventually, just as I'm able to think of Johnny's name now. One day, I'll have recovered from my childhood romance.

"Maybe when everything's calmed down a bit, we can try that second first date again." Mark says.

"I thought you'd never ask."

And a car honks its horn at us as it passes - I'm expecting to see yet another angry face of an ex-fan. But this woman is smiling at us, and in her eyes I can see that she knows exactly who we are.

And wow, maybe not all people move with the crowds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think we're getting near to some form of ending bois


	22. 22

Mark's P.O.V

"So, how have you been?"

Benny sits on the bed awkwardly. I'm standing up which makes this situation more uncomfortable. And we've had to shut the bedroom door, seeing as there's still a restless camera crew out there - a group of people who are getting ready for the cancellation that we all know is coming.

Well Benny, how do you think I've been? One of my best friends has died, I've been mocked by homophobic news reporters, there are people sending me death threats, Alex is full of evil glares and bitter words. And you never bothered to pop by, never even a hello. Because you got married and you got a better life.

We don't know for sure that RENT will be cancelled, but we're all predicting it. The camera crew are still here but I've noticed some of the equipment starting to disappear from the loft. And they're a lot quieter now. Obviously all impacted by their pathetic failure of a TV show - they thought they'd done something amazing, and now it's gone.

Now it's gone. Will we finally get our home back?

"Fine." I say curtly, "What about you Benjamin?"

He sighs, "Okay. Alison got sick last month."

I almost laugh. Alison got sick. How dreadful. I wonder how he managed to cope. It's not like my life got turned upside down and my friend died and me and my kind-of-boyfriend got torn apart by a newspaper. Oh, of course all that is nothing compared to Alison getting sick.

Anyway, at least they can afford medicine when one of them gets ill. I've already almost used up all the extra money I got from my horrible stunt as an actor, so very soon we'll be back to freezing again. But in a weird way, at least that will be a life I'm used to. At least I'll know who I am.

"Is she alright?" I ask. I may hate this man, but I wish no suffering on his wife. Even if she stole him from me years ago. She's never proved herself a bad person.

"Getting there." Benny says, "She's being treated for a chest infection."

We look at each other and I wonder if he's remembering the fun we used to have together in this building. When we'd just moved in and he tried cooking pancakes with Maureen and Collins was woken up by the smoke alarm - he made sure that after that day Benny never went anywhere near a pan again.

Does he remember the time we all went and put on a show in the park? Maureen was doing some interesting contemporary dancing, Collins and Benny were singing some rubbish about love, Roger was playing the guitar and trying his hardest to look disapproving (though he couldn't fight the smile) and I was filming it all, laughing at the strange group I called my friends.

Does Benny remember that day when he tried to bring back an akita puppy he'd found on the street? I'd been the only one home when he came in with it tucked in his coat. He'd showed me this little ball of fluff and said we had to keep her. We sat playing with her until Collins had come in and reminded us that he was allergic to dogs.

What about the time when he and Maureen had treated us all to Chinese takeaway, only to set a fire when they put the food - still in the cardboard boxes - on the hot plate. In the end, we had to eat whatever was left in the cupboard, though I told Benny that it was the thought that counted.

All these memories of good times with him, and yet somewhere along the way I ended up so mad with him that I'm disturbed just by seeing him again. Maybe I wouldn't feel like this if he'd not abandoned me, if he'd actually come by to visit before now, if he'd showed an interest in our lives when there wasn't a tragedy playing out.

If he really was bothered about us anymore, he wouldn't have disappeared without a trace until he was summoned by a TV show. He wouldn't only be showing his face because we're struggling and he feels obligated to pretend just because we have history.

It's exactly that - history. And history should stay buried in the past. We should not try to bring it back to life. Let it stay where it belongs.

And here he is, sitting silently on my bed after all this time, trying to bring history back to life - history that I thought had died and been buried long ago.

I wonder if it feels weird for him being in this room again. After years of being rich does he still remember the days when he slept on the sofa? The five of us would alternate who got to sleep in the actual beds, while one slept on the floor and two tried to share the sofa.

Does he remember the cold nights when we would stay up and play games with a bottle of alcohol? We followed a routine of who slept where. Does he remember the awkwardness of trying to share the sofa, the smug victory of getting a bed?

It was a horrible environment to live in. But we made it fun. Because we were all so close and everything was a joke to us then. We could laugh at it all because we had each other and we didn't care about anything else.

We were an unlikely gang. Anyone would look at us and ask themselves how the hell the world had ended up getting us together. Maureen the diva, Collins the sensible teacher, Benny the dreamer, Roger the amateur rockstar, me the soppy filmmaker.

No one would ever have been able to understand what had got us to bond, what had kept together five very different people. I didn't understand it myself. But it didn't matter because we were a family and we lived life to the fullest every day.

And then he left and I told myself that this was it and I wouldn't have to worry about him ever again. Yet here he is, in a house he no longer has any right to be in. He lost that privilege when he eloped with Alison.

When he left me to be broken up with by Maureen, to watch as she moved out to live with Joanne. And then Collins got a job and he was gone too and it was just me and Roger - who slowly withdrew more and more from me each day. And Benny wasn't here because he'd got better things and he'd left us to be destroyed by the weather and the sadness.

"I'm sorry about Angel." He says suddenly, "She was a great woman."

"She was." I say quietly. There's no anger in my words, just pain. Because she's dead and that's even worse than Benny being back here. That's so much worse.

She was a great woman that he barely even knew. Because he was always with Alison, always away from us. He only met Angel briefly and he never had a chance to get to know her.

How dare he come into my home and offer me fake sympathy? He has no idea how excruciatingly painful it is to have a friend die. He doesn't know what it feels like to have your heart twisted and mangled and squeezed by the claws of grief, to feel that sense of fear as everything around you falls to pieces. So, how can he come here after all this time and act like he does?

He hasn't been a part of this TV show, hasn't had to see what it's done to our once-close family. He hasn't had to see all the tears as people fight and drift away and cry for those that have been lost.

Benny hasn't seen what my life has been like over the past few months. He hasn't had to see how drastically everything I know has changed since signing that contract. He hasn't been forced to watch as people he loves lock away their emotions and hide themselves from him, fearing a past that he hasn't even been allowed to know about.

He hasn't had to watch as relationships crumble and collapse because of ill-placed words and malicious intent. The two people moving far away from each other and submerging themselves in their agonising lives.

He has no clue what it's taken for me to stay strong. I've seen death and I've seen heartbreak and I've seen love and hope. And all this time, he's been absent. Why now? Other than to give me weak condolences for Angel, why would he come now?

"Just say it Mark." He sighs, "Just say you hate me. Ask me what the hell I'm doing here."

"What?"

He gets up off the bed and looks at me, "I can see it in your eyes. You don't want me here. You want me to scamper back off to Alison, just like I always do."

Surprisingly, he doesn't sound angry. Just tired. And I look in his eyes and in them is this deep guilt, this aching misery. He looks like he hasn't slept in several days and like he's been crushed by my bitterness. And for a second I find myself wondering if he genuinely does feel bad about his actions.

Benny turns away from me, his eyes flicking down to the floor, and he goes to open the door.

"Wait." I whisper.

He turns around again, looks at me in mild shock.

Something snaps in me.

I've lost so much. I've seen so many people hurt. I can't push away another, not someone who I used to be so close with. Not when he's come out of his way to talk to me. I can't do this, I can't keep fighting him.

"Do you really mean it?" I ask, "Are you really sorry for leaving?"

And Benny's eyes soften. He steps towards me again.

"Mark." He whispers, "I've never stopped being sorry."

And God, I think it's true. I think I've been so angry at him all this time that I haven't been able to see. I think that Benny really has been trying to apologise but I've just brushed it off. All because he keeps choosing the worst possible times to show his face.

"Then why didn't you do anything?" I ask, "Why did you never try to apologise?"

He did. When we were filming that episode. But to me that didn't feel genuine. He's trying right now, but I'm too blinded by my hatred.

But is it really hatred? Or just jealousy that he got a better life? Is it just jealousy that Alison was able to make him as happy as we were? Maybe I've just always wished he'd never met her so that he was still living here, even if it's wrong to wish a life of poverty on someone else.

I guess I was just hurt that my friend packed up and left so easily for a woman. But he loves her, and he deserves to love someone. I know that.

"I wanted to." Benny says quietly, "I just never knew what to say. How could I make my betrayal okay?"

Maybe he was just scared because he knew that I'd never accept an apology. Why would he bother trying if he knew I'd blank it all out?

"I don't hate you." I say, looking at the floor, "I just hated you for leaving."

"I know." He says, "And you hate Alison for taking me."

I don't think that's true. I don't think I've ever hated Alison. I've never even seen her before. I used to think that I hated her for winning Benny's loyalty, but I think I was just jealous that she was enough for him - that we weren't as good as her.

"I don't." I say.

He looks at me again, "I'm sorry." He says, "For not calling more. For not knowing how to make things right."

"I'm sorry too." I say, "For not giving you a chance."

And we sit side-by-side on the bed and smile. No hugs. It's too soon for that. But we're okay, at least. I've lost so much, but I'm getting some things back. And maybe Benny will want to talk still, maybe he won't just disappear again, maybe things can be different this time.

"When all this TV show stuff has blown over," He says, "You're welcome to come over for lunch. You can meet Alison."

"I'd love to." I say.

I mean it. And I see that maybe I've been hoping for this all along.

...

"This is your fault, all of you!"

I don't care whose fault this is, I'm just glad it's finally happening. It's long overdue.

The loft is a mess of furious shouting, thrown accusations and rapidly disappearing cameras. All the equipment is wheeled out and God, I'd almost forgotten what this place looked like before they took over. It's like the room is able to breathe again for the first time since they arrived.

Alex's face is flushed and his hands are balled. He's yelling at anyone who walks past and is demanding his crew take all their stuff outside. If I was to look out the window, I'd see a group of people and cameras blocking the street.

Benny left half an hour ago. Mimi and Roger are in the bedroom out the way - he said that he didn't want her getting hurt, since this was technically her doing and Alex really isn't in a good mood.

"You ruined my show!" He shouts at me from across the loft, "Your little friend destroyed my life work and now I'm finished! My film career is over!"

I guess he's right. No one will want him as their director after the spectacular failure of this show. He'll have to find a new line of work. But right now, I have zero sympathy for him. He destroyed everything we had, it's only fair we returned the favour.

The noise is deafening as the people exit stage for the last time, not caring to take their mess with them. The loft is emptying at last, but it's still full of old clothes and food packets that the crew are too lazy to dispose of.

The announcement came in as Benny was leaving. The woman appeared on the news - the same woman who has written every article regarding our show - and she told the world that there would be no more episodes of RENT airing. It was over.

I don't know what our lives are going to be like now. I don't know how we'll get by. But I know that at least things are fixed with Benny, that now Maureen and Joanne have a shot to privately sort their relationship, that Collins can mourn Angel without a camera in his face, that Mimi can stop pretending to be in love with her friend, and that me and Roger can get on with our lives without worrying what people think.

I know that even when the last camera rolls out that door, we'll have each other and we can try to rebuild all that we've had taken from us because of this show.

I know that we'll never forget the mess I got us into, even when no one remembers RENT.

It's going to be strange carrying on now. We'll finally have the house to ourselves and it will feel so empty and so huge without all the people. We'll be able to go outside again. We'll be able to be normal.

"You'll all regret this!" Alex says, "You needed that money!"

We did. But we'll have to manage. We managed before and we can do it again. It'll just take some getting used to. But maybe it'll come naturally, it might be easier than I think to revert back to life without the cameras.

We'll be fine.

"You will regret this." Alex whispers, staring right at me.

And then he's out the building and on the street and all the equipment is loaded into a van. And they're gone from my life. I never have to see them again. And it feels like a dream, because no way has this all ended so quickly. It can't be over.

But Mimi comes out the bedroom and lies down on the sofa, shuts her eyes and grins. Grins wider than she ever did on-set. She looks so relaxed and so happy and I see that this is really happening, they're really gone. We're free.

"Hallelujah." She sighs, sinking into the cushions.

And then Roger comes out and he's smiling too and he's pulling me into a hug and kissing me and Mimi's cheering loudly and every nerve is on fire because I'm so overwhelmed and so fucking happy.

I never knew it was possible to feel so happy, never knew how good one kiss could be, never knew that bliss was real.

Because surely I've died and this is heaven. No way am I kissing Roger right now in the middle of the loft without having to think about a TV crew. No way is Mimi on the sofa, whooping and laughing - not crying for the first time in a while.

No way have we been given a second chance at life.

Even one without Angel.

Though I'm sure that she'd be on Mimi's team if she could see us now and she'd be glad that things are okay.

Okay. I never thought I'd ever be okay again. But right now, I really do feel it. I really do feel like we'll all be okay.

"I love you." Roger whispers.

And I melt because he sounds so unsure and I know why - because those are the words he said to that boy the night before he died. And he's been trying to find the strength for years to tell someone else that, in fear of the same happening to them.

That means he listened to me, he finally got over that boy, and he's being open about his feelings for the first time I remember.

And I cry because hell, I'm proud of him. And I love him too. And this time he's going to get to love me, because I am not going anywhere.

Mimi jumps off the sofa and she's crying too.

"Group hug." She says.

And that's just what we have. We cry into each other's arms because it's over, we're okay, we're alive and that's enough. I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful that these people are still here and that I'm still here and that we've been given this love.

We hug and we cry and to me, those two actions sum up our entire story - we are broken, but we are given chance to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's only one more chapter left to write now! wow!


	23. 23

Roger's P.O.V

The world is starting to set right all the wrongs. Time is erasing the scars.

The show is gone. Long gone. Alex went with it. The newspapers quickly stopped focusing on us and people stopped banging on our door. It was kind of creepy how suddenly the world lost interest in us.

One minute they want to know everything about us, the next they couldn't care less. And in a way, it's relieving.

I've been over to see Collins a few times. He's doing alright. All he wants to talk about is Angel and how he wishes we'd never done the show. He has it in his head that the two things are linked. And maybe they are - I remember Alex's words - but I guess we'll never know.

When I visit, he smiles and he seems okay. But I know that when I leave, he cries. And I'm not going to stop him. He's allowed to cry for her. After all, that's something we were barely given a chance to do while the cameras were rolling. He's allowed to shed tears privately.

But Collins keeps living like he knew Angel would've wanted. He goes out with me and he meets up with Mark and Mimi and he's even been going to the bar with Benny.

Because even with everything that's happened to us, life still goes on.

Maureen and Joanne are talking again. They're moving slowly but they've had some serious conversations on what kind of relationship they want, and things are getting better. They've talked out their fears and now that Alex isn't here to poke at those wounds, it's improving.

I'm forever glad that Mimi went for that interview. She's moved in with me and Mark, sold her apartment. She said that it would get a little extra money, but I think she mainly just doesn't want to live alone. Not that I mind. Since the crew left, the loft's felt too empty anyway.

And then there's me. A few months ago I thought that I would never feel good again. I was stuck in some cage I'd crafted out of my own fear; trapped watching images of my past flash by, having no way to tell anyone about them.

But now I'm here. I'm with Mark and Mimi in this room and I'm happy. I'm able to tell them that I love them, which was probably the biggest step I ever took. All my life I've been terrified of loving, because I thought that it meant that they'd die too. But I was wrong and telling people you love them is one of the best feelings in the world.

I can talk about the things in my head - about Johnny and about my father but never about the things I heard Alex saying about Angel. I think it's best if no one else ever has to know about that. It's safer that way.

There will always be a sense that I failed her. But I think it can't be me, because there's no way her death was anything to do with Alex. It's just survivor's guilt and it's fine if some days I miss her so much that I can't think straight. I can cry for her if I need to.

Just like I can cry for Johnny. I can cry for the life he never got to live and the pain that those memories have caused me recently. I can cry that he was taken away so young and that it took me so long to start getting over it.

Things are starting to come together again. Very slowly. And we may never fully recover from RENT, but we're getting there now. And there are some good things that came out of it. It's a mistake that defined too much of our lives, but it's one I now think we may be able to get back from.

...

"Why are we doing this?"

Mimi huffs, "It's a special occasion Roger, at least let me make sure you look good."

She goes back to messing with my hair, completely silent in concentration.

"But do you have to pull so hard?" I ask.

She smirks, "Maybe not."

And then comes an extra sharp tug that has tears springing to my eyes.

"Mimi!"

She laughs, "Stop whining. It'll be worth it."

"Better had be." I mutter.

She laughs again and continues with whatever she's doing. I swear, if this is all some big joke and she's doing something horrible, I'll kill her. She's lucky I agreed to let her help me get ready in the first place, if she's been tricking me I think I'll hit her.

Mimi leans down in front of my face and grins.

"You ready for some makeup?" She says sweetly.

"No way!" I say, pushing her away, "You are not putting that stuff anywhere near me."

She pouts, "Come on. It's a big day."

It's really not. This "big day" is literally my second first date with Mark. But she insisted that it was some huge event and burst into happy tears, saying she'd been waiting so long for this. Then she dragged me into the bedroom and started torturing me with this.

"No." I say, "I let you rip my hair out. This is where I draw the line."

She grins at me again, "You scared?"

"Of you ruining my face? Hell yeah."

Mimi laughs, "Come on Rog, it'll be fun! You can be the sister I never had."

"First off - ew." I say, pushing her away again, "Second - how is painting your face fun?"

She sighs dramatically, "You have a lot to learn."

And I see the excitement on her face and some stupid part of me just tells the rest of me to humour her, let her have some fun. She's earned it.

"Fine." I say, "Just try not to poke my eyes out."

She laughs, "No promises."

And so she's leaning in front of me, all giggling and squealing quietly and I'm dreading what she's doing. But I'm also smiling because she seems so happy and I'm so glad that our recent experiences haven't changed her from the friend I love.

"What are you smiling about?" She asks.

"You." I say simply.

And she shrugs and laughs and goes back to running that black stick around my eyes - and yes, I'm incredibly on edge that she's about to slip and blind me. But Mimi's a self-proclaimed beauty guru. She's an expert. She knows what she's doing.

And maybe I am enjoying this just a little bit. Or maybe everything's just been so bad up until now, that these small good things seem even better than they would normally. Maybe the light has just been exaggerated.

Or maybe I just love the moments where me and Mimi prove that we're exactly the same as we always have been. Because at the end of a storm like this, it's good to see that some things don't have to change.

"Are you almost done?" I ask.

She just shushes me and keeps poking at my face with various items that I don't recognise. I can only imagine what she's doing.

So we sit quietly for another few minutes, me complaining every time she pushes down too hard and her just telling me to shut up and let her work.

"Done." She says suddenly.

"Can I see?"

"Nope." Mimi grins, "You're going to go out there and find your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend and I want to see what you've done to me." I say.

She folds her arms and smiles. Something about that smile is very unsettling. She seems to see this because she softens it and says:

"Don't worry. You look great."

And I guess I have no option but to trust her. So I sigh and I smile and I look into her eyes. And suddenly I find myself overflowing with this deep compassion, so grateful for everything she's done for me over the years, so glad she's never left.

"Thank you." I say. And I mean I'm thankful for everything, "Thank you for always being there for me."

And she hugs me and I find myself wanting to cry because she's just so amazing and I wish she knew it.

"Don't cry." Mimi says, "It'll ruin all my hard work."

And I laugh and keep hugging her. I wonder what I ever did to deserve a friend like Mimi. Because she's always been here and I love her so much for it.

"Okay." She says, pulling away from me, "It's time."

And I take a breath, pull her into one more hug, and walk to the door. Everything feels so crazy right now, but not the bad kind. This is a kind of crazy that I can live with.

Mimi wipes a fake tear from her eye and sighs.

"They grow up so fast." She says and I flip her off before walking out the room.

...

"You look really nice." Mark says for the fifth time.

"So, Mimi didn't make me look completely ridiculous?" I say.

"Not at all."

The silence is exactly awkward, but it's not particularly comfortable either. I feel like I need to say something, but I'm not sure what. I really hope that this phase ends soon, because I don't know how much awkwardness I can take before I explode.

We're just sitting in the loft, still not ready to go anywhere public just in case there's anyone who does still remember us from RENT. We didn't want to risk ruining this again.

So I'm fidgeting with my fingers and neither of us are looking each other in the eye. And if Mimi was out here, she'd probably force us to look up and tell us to get a move on.

"So...?" Mark asks.

"So?"

He takes a deep breath and looks at me.

"Would you like to be my boyfriend?" He asks.

There are things rushing through my head: Johnny's body bleeding under that tree, Angel lying in the river, my father screaming in my face, the people trying to get in our door, everything horrible.

And then Mimi, smiling and nudging me forward, Angel giving me fake therapy, Mark on all those nights he tried to get me to explain my emotions, Collins asking what would make me happy.

This. This makes me happy. Right now, I am happy. I'm really happy. And Mimi's happy and Mark's happy and I love him.

I love him. I tell myself that I love him. I love him like I never thought I'd be allowed to. I love him like I loved Johnny. I love him, I love him, I love him.

And I want to be with him. I want to be with him forever and ever. Because I love him and it feels weird admitting it, but it's so true.

"Yes." I say.

And Mark smiles and I smile and I can hear Mimi celebrating in the bedroom.

He kisses me again and I wonder if this will ever get old. Will it always feel so great? Because surely nothing could weaken the thrill of his lips on mine. I could never take this for granted, not when it's taken so much to reach this point.

I can't imagine a day when these kisses won't feel so special. I think I'll always remember the magical first ones and that they will keep on feeling so good. Because how could something like this just become boring?

And we kiss and kiss and everything feels right. It feels like this was going to be our ending all along, this was the way things would always be. It feels like we were destined to end up like this; coming out from the darkness and finally emerging into this light.

We just sit there, but this time the quiet is comfortable and it feels like there are no words needed to express how we feel. We don't need to fill the air, just sitting beside each other says enough.

I think how strange it is that things ended up like this. Because everything had been so, so bad that it felt this would never be possible again. The more I think about what we've been through, the more it feels like this is all imaginary.

I never thought I could love anyone again, never thought I could get out of the prison Johnny's death had put me in. I hid all of my memories and feelings away from everyone. We sold out. We paid for that. We got money but it wasn't worth it. Maureen and Joanne broke up, Angel died and we had to cry publicly. I let people into my head, I told Mark the truth. Mimi went for that life saving interview. The show was cancelled. I told Mark I loved him.

So many things. And yet here I am, sitting next to my now boyfriend, feeling happier than I have for so long. No fears of my father or of losing someone present in this relationship. I've overcome that, I think.

How can I be scared when I have Mark here and Mimi behind the door and Collins a short walk away? How can I be scared when I have Maureen and Joanne and their unbreakable relationship proving that sometimes we can have happy endings?

How can I find time to be scared when every minute of my life is filled with love for the people around me?

Sure, RENT will never be truly gone. But it will fade - it's already started to. And one day maybe we'll be able to forget all the pain it brought with it, and just focus on the bit of good that came out of it.

"Play me something." Mark says quietly.

And my breath catches as I pick up the guitar, because he sounds just like Johnny. But I push this away because he isn't going to die, it won't happen again.

So I play and I sing and I don't really notice that it's Johnny's song, but some small part of me recognises it. But for once, that doesn't bring me to tears. Because yes, I miss that boy, and I'll probably never stop missing him. But now I have other people to love and I can let go of the guilt.

Johnny fixed me and broke me. But I know that he can see me now. I know that when Mark said those words, Johnny was asking them too. He's listening to me playing his song, and he's proud that I'm growing up and that I'm letting love back in.

I think that maybe Angel's watching too. Maybe they're together and they're both crying because they care so much about me. They're holding each other and they're weeping and saying how great it is that I've learnt how to move on.

At some point, I stop singing and finish the song. I didn't even really register the words coming from my mouth, so the end takes me by surprise. But everything has to end - even the worst nightmares don't go on forever.

He kisses me again and I barely even notice that I'm crying. Crying because I have Mark and I love him, crying because I have Mimi, crying because I'm certain that Johnny and Angel are watching now, crying because I think I'm okay.

I think I'm okay.

After all the damage caused by Alex Rivera's show, I think I'm okay.

I think I'll continue to be okay for a long time, as long as these people are still here and I still remember how to speak my feelings. Because keeping them in hurts so much and I know from experience that things can only get better once you let yourself open up.

I have a right to cry. We all do. We've seen our lives destroyed and been forced to repair them ourselves. And yet we're still here and we're still going. It's a miracle really.

The bedroom door creaks open. Tears are running down Mimi's face and she looks guilty.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, I just-" She says.

But I hold out my hand to her and she walks over and just falls into my arms. She's crying just like I am, so I hug her, even if this was meant to be a date. Because she's my best friend and I love her too.

"I just can't believe it's all over." Mimi whispers.

Me neither. It doesn't feel like something so catastrophic can end so suddenly. It doesn't feel like we should be able to have good things after something so dreadful. It feels like this is all a fantasy.

And I keep hugging Mimi into my chest, but Mark leans over and kisses me again and I completely forget she's there.

"I love you guys." She says, laughing through tears, "But please get a room."

"We had a room until you barged in." I point out.

She just laughs, "Something about your gay just seemed so irresistably magical."

And I hit her arm and laugh. And we all laugh and cry and it doesn't even matter that this date has been messed up again, because my two favourite people are right here and that's all I want. Just this forever.

Mimi looks up at the ceiling, "Hey Angel, please help me deal with these two. God knows what they're gonna do while I'm in the other room."

I hit her again.

"Hey Angel." I say, "Please help Mimi understand that we're allowed to kiss each other if we want to."

And Mark grins and says, "You mean like this?"

And he kisses me again and I'm sure I can hear Angel and Johnny clapping while Mimi groans and covers her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really can't believe i wrote this whole book in 25 days, it really doesn't seem real.


End file.
